Half a person (OG2 - Where's Molly?)
by Pinerug
Summary: Georgie Lane's history has caught up with her somewhere on the Kenya/Somali border. This story started out as my contribution to the 'Where's Molly' challenge
1. Chapter 1

**My contribution to the 'Where's Molly?' challenge. Thanks to Kuia for getting the rusty cogs whirring again**

* * *

The wail of the siren was fading into the distance as Molly became aware of the damp patch of drool under her cheek. The flat smelt bad; worse than usual. Stale cooking smells, the lingering scent of last night's curry doing battle with value washing powder and old cigarette smoke. The sofa cushion, stuck damply to her cheek added it's own layer of stench, beer and sweat. Molly stopped her thoughts there. She had seen what her parents got up to on this sofa, she didn't want to think about what else her skin had been in contact with.

Sitting up she cursed the noisy ambulance. It felt like a lifetime since she had any sleep more substantial than a nap. Once upon a time she had loved the noise of the city outside the door, the constant buzz and activity had meant she never really felt alone. Just outside was a world that never truly went dark, that was never completely quiet, all around were people and lives being lived. Now she wished it would all go away, that the world would stop just for a few hours just so she could get some sleep. She had thought she could handle the sleep deprivation; she'd done her fair share of exercises, snatching sleep here and there between long ruck marches and night manoeuvres. The light headedness and slight feeling of disconnection with the world was familiar and she knew how to work with that; but there had always been others with her, when one was flagging the rest would buoy them up, the strength of the team coming into play, drawing what they needed from each other to get them through the next mile or hour or day. This wasn't like that. She was alone, and she felt it.

The woman below was cleaning, Molly could make out the muffled drone of the hoover through the floor. She could hear the bang and scrape of furniture being moved about through the walls, doors and windows opened and slammed shut. Every noise set her on edge, the tension creeping up her back and through her shoulders. She glanced at the bundle in the Moses basket, a small pink mouth hung open slackly, a gentle snore emanated from the jumble of blankets. He looked fast asleep, like nothing would wake him, she relaxed a little, straightening her crumpled t shirt. Lifting her arms to re-tie her ponytail she caught a whiff of her body, stale sweat and regurgitated milk. She wondered when she had last showered. Two days ago, maybe three? She couldn't quite remember. Still, it wasn't like she would be seeing anyone soon, or not anyone that mattered.

Rubbing the dried saliva from her cheek she cautiously stood up, making her way to the hallway. A cheery whistling from the walkway signalled the arrival of the postie. Molly rushed to the door, opening it before the letters were thrust through the box. The rattling box that Dave hadn't got around to fixing for the last seven years.

"Oh! Morning love" the postie grinned passing her a handful of white windowed envelopes and junk mail leaflets. She glanced through them hopefully for a flimsy blue aerogramme, even though she knew it was a long shot. "Ere, don't take this the wrong way or nothing, but you look knackered." He carried on his chirpy monologue oblivious to Molly's glares. "Little one keeping you on your toes? Was that him I heard yesterday? He's got a good set of lungs I'll say" she let the inane chatter wash over her, it was the first adult conversation she had heard all day, Tommy's hungover grunts and Bella's occasional comments as she looked up from her phone screen hardly counted as conversation. "Maybe get some rest while you can eh darlin?" The postie was making his way back down the walkway before Molly could even drag her attention to respond. She dumped the envelopes down on the kitchen counter and made her way to the kettle.

Feeling slightly more human for a cup of tea Molly leant against the kitchen counter. The place was a tip. Plates were abandoned in the sink, the water long gone cold and covered with a greasy film that the cheap washing up liquid couldn't touch. A trail of crumbs lead from the toaster back to the bread, the packet open and the slices spewing from its mouth, drying and curling at the edges. The spread had been left out, knives poked from its yellow surface, a pot of jam, insides scraped clean next to it. She sighed. Not one of the little bleeders had done a bloody thing to help this morning as she had balanced the screaming baby against her shoulder, a not too clean tea towel draped over it to catch the dribble as she nagged Martin into his school shoes, sending the older kids off to school with a couple of quid each because she hadn't got time to make their packed lunches. When her purse had been emptied she saw Tommy out the door with a shrug and half a packet of biscuits, if he could find money for bottles of cider to get bladdered on he could find himself something to eat.

She kept her ears trained for the slightest snuffle from the living room, but so far all had been quiet. She looked around at the mess, knowing that the longer she left it the less time she would have to tackle it. She was living on borrowed time as it was, the baby was going to wake sooner rather than later now and when he did there wouldn't be time for anything. Her mind filled with all the other things she should have done instead of wasting her time leaning against the counter staring into space; she could have had a shower, or done the washing up, or put the latest load of washing away. She could have gone to the toilet. The pressure in her bladder confirmed that of all the possible options open to her this was a priority. Sneaking past the living room door she peeked in, his little pink hands were now flung up into the air, like a frozen conductor, his head turned the other way, as his mouth moved, silently gumming at an invisible teat. She had five minutes tops before he woke. Moving as quickly and silently as she could, she grinned half-heartedly to herself; at least some of her training was coming in handy.

Halfway down the stairs she heard small snuffling noises, another minute or so. She grabbed a bottle from the fridge, flicking on the kettle to warm some water. When he woke he would be hungry and ready to let everyone know about it. She looked at the clock trying to remember when she had last fed him. It had been dark, everyone had been asleep. 5? 4? Too bloody long ago. She cursed herself for not looking at the clock earlier, he was hours past feeding time.

Then without warning a wail cut through the air, full of fury at waking to find himself alone and with an empty stomach. "Shit" Molly muttered under her breath "Coming, Billy" she shouted through the kitchen hatch, as if it would make any sort of difference. She picked up the squirming red faced fury, his eyes screwed tight and mouth open wide screaming his displeasure. Cradling him against her shoulder he screamed in her ear, slightly lower in volume and wavering as he barely stopped to breathe in. "Shh, shhh" Molly held him close, bobbing up and down as she made her way into the kitchen and plopped the bottle into warm water. "Not long now" she racked her brain trying to remember where she had left the colic drops as Billy continued to wail against her ear. Finally she found them on top of the fridge and dropped them onto his tongue. Billy spluttered, more outraged that whatever being poured down his throat wasn't the milk he was expecting. His face grew a deeper shade of red and the wailing rose a notch to full out screaming.

Bottle in hand Molly finally sat on the sofa, trying to contain an angry baby in the crook of her arm and get him to take the bottle. The colic drops were doing their job, for every three gulps of air the screaming baby took another would bubble up, the orange scented belches wafting towards Molly's nose. She gently rubbed the side of his cheek, trying to get him to turn his head towards the teat, but he burrowed his head deeper into her armpit "Wouldn't go there if I were you mate" she muttered, sitting him up higher and rubbing the teat against his lip "I've been in nicer smelling dorm tents the morning after curry night". A few burps later he seemed to understand what she was trying to do, and took the bottle, gulping through hiccups. Molly relaxed as he settled, starting to empty the bottle steadily.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of her; number not available. She let it ring off before realising that this might not be someone trying to flog her PPI. Cursing herself she picked it up hoping that they would call again. Her instinct was right; it rang and she swiped at the screen almost dropping it in her haste. "Hello?" A moment of static followed by the faintest echo of her own voice then a pause

"Hello darlin'" came the response.

* * *

"What the….?" She stopped herself even though 2 month old Billy probably was bound to hear worse growing up in this house.

"I thought you might be missing us"

"Mansfield, are you seriously telling me you're using up your minutes to call me?"

"Nah, got me mobile"

"Except you aren't supposed to be calling with that"

"Who cares?"

"You will when the boss catches you"

"He ain't gonna"

"Hmmm"

"Anyways, what you up to?"

"Feeding a baby"

"Something you ain't tellin us Molls?"

"Ha ha, nah, it's my brother. Just minding him for a few days"

"Didn't think you was the mothering type. Never was with us"

"Well 2 month olds don't tend to cut themselves shaving cos they won't use a mirror and then ask for a plaster every other day." Billy had reached the end of his bottle now and was squirming again. Molly stuck the phone on speaker and started to rub his back. "So, how is it?"

"Boring as hell. We're still in Nairobi, dunno when we gonna be moving. This place is a shithole and they won't let us out."

Molly could just hear other voices on the line, then a scuffling noise. In the distance she could make out Mansfield's voice protesting and a muffled "oi, give it back"

"Molls!" the line suddenly when loud again, startling Billy who gave a small squawk.

"Brains, you numbnut, don't you get caught and all"

"Nah, no one about, besides it's Mansfield's phone they'll confiscate."

"So Mansfield says it's a dump"

"Too bloody right" Fingers chimed in.

"Hey Molls!"

"Dangles!" Molly smiled, her boys; her unit. She could imagine them all, crouched over the phone, dusty fatigues and sun burnt skin, just as they had been in Afghan. She missed them so much it was palpable. She felt the strain of being apart from them, the worry that she wasn't there to help or look after them.

"So come on then, what's it like? Anyone else there I should know about?"

The other end of the line went unnaturally quiet before Brains spoke. "Nah, don't think so. We won't know who else we're with until we get to the camp"

"What about the King?" Chimed in Mansfield

"Who?"

"We got this journalist with us. Baby sitting job" explained Fingers. "Except Mansfield heard he was from Channel 4 and reckons that if he makes an impression this bloke will get him on gogglebox. The bloke's called Elvis, so of course twat features here starts singing 'Viva Las Vegas' every time he sees him"

"Uh-uh" Mansfield gave his best Elvis impression.

"If he's a journalist, I'm the Queen of Sheba" chimed in Brains "nah, I'm betting he's special forces, going in undercover"

"What makes you say that?" Molly switched Billy to the other shoulder.

"He's got Rupert written all over him, rod up his arse, never says a word, always watching. There's no way he ain't army"

"Could have been in before?" Molly pointed out.

"Yeah but if he had he'd say, and if he was there ain't no way he'd need to be with us. He'd know how to handle things and that. Nah, they ain't telling us something." Brains took a deep breath "so you better stop with the Elvis jokes, OK Mansfield? You're gonna get us all in the shit otherwise"

"I'm only having a laugh. Fuck all else to do" Molly could hear his intake of breath.

"Don't tell me your back on the fags Mansfield" she scolded "you said you gave up."

"Molls…" He whined

"Don't give me that" she pounced on him "too much dosh you said"

"Yeah but they're dead cheap out here. Local lads got me bunch"

"Should have known" she sighed "just don't go begging the medic for cough sweets when your lungs pack in half way through the tour."

"Molls, your gonna have to keep him in sunscreen, the divot only bought a tiny bottle with him" Dangles laughed

"Bloody hell, you've been there three days, ain't it a bit early to start with the care packages?" Molly smiled to herself, they had a sucker on the outside now. She would be posting off parcels of pants, marmite and soap for the duration. She would make a show of it being a piss take but she knew she was going to do it. If she wasn't going to be there to dress their wounds and listen to their gripes in person then this would be some consolation to her.

Her bobbing and rubbing finally worked its magic on Billy; he let out a huge burp. Holding him in front of her she smiled, marvelling briefly at his soft pudgy cheeks, how she could see the echoes of her brothers and sisters in him. Suddenly she wasn't smiling any more; another burp rumbled up from deep inside him, bringing with it what felt like half his feed; warm milk hit her full in the chest, splattering over her t shirt, the sofa and the floor. "Ah, Jesus Christ on a bike" she yelled.

"What!" Her phone squawked.

"Bloody kids just puked all over me! Ah hell, that's gross" she squealed as the warm milky contents of Billy's stomach started to seep through her t shirt to her underwear.

The tiny speaker on her phone couldn't cope with the laughter coming down the line, it gave out a weird static noise, occasionally half a word could be made out. Billy, upset by the racket and the loss of half his feed started crying, Molly didn't know what to do, she couldn't cuddle him without covering him in milky sick. Transferring him from one arm to another she peeled the t shirt off, using the dry parts to wipe down the sofa. Sitting in her bra she shivered, clasping the baby against her. Slowly he calmed down,as did the lads on the other end of the line.

"Can't be worse than dealing with numbnuts here after seven pints and kebab" yelled Fingers, and she could just make out the sounds of a muffled scuffle as one of them took the slight out on the other. "That kebab was well dodgy" came a faint response from Mansfield sounding like he was speaking from underneath a pillow.

The laughter returned, along with a slightly quieter wailing from Billy as he started gumming at the edge of her bra cup "nowt there mate" Molly murmured as she tried to remove him.

Suddenly the other end of the line went quiet apart from a hurried scuffling noise.

"Any of you lot want to tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?" The tone and voice was unmistakable, sending shivers down Molly's spine. She could see him in her mind's eye, legs firmly planted apart, arms crossed high over his chest, broad shoulders blocking the light from the door, the expression on his face harsh as he asserted his authority. He always seemed to take a hard line at the start of tours, softening slightly as his confidence in the position and abilities of his platoon grew. Even after all this time he would be the same; probably even more so given that he had been out of day to day command as he went through the long rehabilitation process. Molly's throat went dry as she listened to everything down the phone line.

Heavy footsteps punctuated the silence, her heart beat rapidly in her chest as if she were there. There was a rustling and crackle as the phone was picked up, he obviously didn't realise that the call was still connected.

"Fingers?" His tone was quieter, calm even, but Molly could hear the authority underneath it.

"Sir"

"This your phone?"

"No sir"

There was a padding of boots on concrete.

"Dangles?"

"No sir"

Molly realised she was holding her breath. She knew she should kill the call, but the sound of his voice was compelling. She could picture him clearly, his hair cut shorter than usual to last as long as possible, a hint of pink to his skin, slightly burnt, unused to the change of climate. His eyes would be narrowed, not warm, or playful or full of want as she knew they could be. His lips set in a thin line; he would be drawn to his full height, holding himself upright, a match for anyone in stature and bearing. She shivered, goose flesh blooming across her chest followed by a flush of heat. Her skin tightened as she remembered his eyes on her, his lips, his hands, his skin moving against hers. Unconsciously she tightened her grip on Billy, causing him to shriek in surprise.

"Bollocks" she muttered, loosening her grip on the baby and trying to silence him by letting him suck on her finger. But now she was trapped, unable to reach the phone to disconnect the call.

"It's mine sir" Mansfield spoke up.

"Mansfield?"

"Yes sir"

"And how are Al Shabab this afternoon? Everything nice and cozy in Mogadishu is it? Just sorting out the last few details before they come down here and blow us all to kingdom fucking come?"

Silence filled the room. Molly barely dared to breathe or move. _Don't say something bloody stupid Mansfield_ , she willed over thousands of miles. _Keep it zipped._

"Dunno sir. I was just calling the missus. Do you want to say hello, si-". The line went dead.

* * *

Another long night was fading into a grey dawn. Molly watched the edges of the curtains grow lighter, picking out the shadows of the room, deepening them before the light grew and blurred their edges. Trying to sleep was futile now, the light and the army habit of early starts meant that it wouldn't come, no matter how much she wanted it.

Slowly and carefully she sat up, trying not to disturb Martin who lay diagonally across two thirds of the bed, his short brown hair sticking up, his thumb half out of mouth. Of course he was sleeping now. She probably couldn't wake him if she tried. He hadn't been so keen to sleep at 3am when he had come to the bed. He had lain next to her fiddling with her hair, his legs in constant motion against her back as he had taken the rare opportunity of having his big sister all to himself and chattered about everything that came into his head. He was at an age where tales of superheroes and soldiers merged into one and his idea of what his sister did verged between gruesome adventure and impossible feats of super powers.

Easing herself off the bed she checked on Billy in his Moses basket. He too seemed fast asleep, she wriggled into her dressing gown, tightening the belt around her waist before creeping out of the room and down the stairs.

Waiting for the kettle to boil she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Her heart leapt as she saw it was the message she had been waiting for. She flicked off the kettle and replied "yes".

The next five minutes dragged. She tried to be patient, but every time her screen went dark she panicked, fearing her signal had gone. The phone links had a habit of being patchy, she knew that and she hoped that it hadn't dropped out altogether. Eventually it rang. She pounced on it, answering it before the first ring had finished.

"Morning beautiful."

"You wouldn't be saying that if this was skype" she tucked her hair behind her ear, now lank and greasy on day four.

"Having a hard time?" his tone was gentle.

"I don't know why I thought this was a good idea" she looked around at the mess in the kitchen that had predictably worsened overnight. "I ain't volunteering to watch the kids again any time soon"

"Tell me about it" there was a frustrated edge to his voice.

"You weren't expecting the lads to go easy on you was you? You know that ain't their thing"

He sighed "I don't know what's got into them. It's like herding cats. I had to haul Mansfield over the coals yesterday, daft beggar was…." He paused weighing up his short call time allowance and whether it was worth spending it on moaning about the antics of 2 section "well let's just say that he's been given the opportunity to experience life away from technology for a few weeks"

"He's not gonna like that"

"Shouldn't be taking the piss then, should he? I don't know what's got into him or the other lads, they seem to be taking a few too many liberties, showing off to the new platoon members"

"It'll settle down it's just a bit early tour dick waving ain't that what you used to call it?"

"Yeah. I suppose so" he said begrudgingly "when are Belinda & Dave due back?" He changed the subject swiftly; he knew Molly's loyalties were sometimes in conflict when he spoke about his platoon; many of them had been her section mates and their bond was still strong despite her no longer being part of the under-5s.

"Later today, thank god. I can't wait to get home and sleep a full night in my own bed" she paused; _their bed_ it would still smell of him, she would leave the sheets on as long as hygienically possible or beyond.

"Make the most of it; the army haven't made the beds any more comfortable or commodious since I last slept on them"

"Don't give me that; you Officers with your private rooms, dunno you're born mate" she grinned, waiting to see if he took the bait.

The line went silent, fleetingly she worried that she had over-stepped the mark. He sounded weary, not excited as had expected. He had wanted to get back into theatre for so badly, it had been a long hard slog, months of work at Headley to get back to the physical fitness that he'd thought he would never attain. She knew how much more pressure he would feel; to keep on top of everything; to prove himself, to repay all the faith, effort and skill that everyone had given to get him where he was.

"The lads say you got some journalist embedded with you" she thought dropping them in it a little for the sake of changing the topic was worth it.

"Gosh, they were chatty"

"Don't give them shit ok? You worried that they're going to be a liability?"

"2 section or the journalist?" she could hear the smile in his voice

"You know what I mean. Course Brains reckons he ain't a journalist"

"Hmmm" his response was noncommittal "Don't get much past Brains these days"

She shivered, cold gooseflesh sweeping over her shoulders despite the warmth of the cosy kitchen in East Ham and her thick dressing gown. She swallowed, trying to make the next words come out of her mouth sound normal. She failed. "Oh" she squeaked. Suddenly it made sense. His hesitancy, the strain and worry that she had heard in his voice. This was bigger than he had let on. Of course it was, that was obvious. Observer mission they had said. Joint operations with Kenyan Defence Forces. She had thought that his experience with the ANA was why they had wanted him but now it was becoming obviously that this was a cover. Her brain ran over what little she knew about where he was going.

She had heard of RAMC missions to Kenya; field hospitals, knowledge sharing of the medical advances that had come out of Afghan. Helping the KDF meet the pressures of the long running conflict with Somalia. Internal terrorist threat, travel advisories, vague memories of bombs somewhere in Africa….had _that_ been Kenya or somewhere else? Sudan? Was that near?

"Look" he cleared his throat "Time's nearly up. We'll be off soon, travelling. I won't be able to call for a few days. Maybe a week"

"OK" she blinked back the tears. They could wait until later, she knew the drill.

"I forgot to check the tyre pressures on the car before I left. Can you do it next time you fill up? All the info is inside the flap for the petrol cap." he cleared his throat.

"Tyre pressures?" she couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice.

"I just want you to be safe"

"Ditto"

He gave a small snort, she knew he would be smiling. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"I have to go."

"I love you"

"Ditto"


	2. Chapter 2

**If you believe people have theme tunes mine would be I Started Something I Couldn't Finish. Oh well.**

Kenya-Somali border, Corporal Lane

I can see the convoy a few kilometres out. What started as a faint blur on the horizon is now a line of dust kicked up in the wake of the trucks. We've got a lot of that here. Dust, thorns, goats and more dust. Oh, and a few hundred people. All of us covered in dust.

When I got this posting I thought I would be in the facility at Nanyuki; it's a bit worn in places but mostly in good nick, full staff, families, a social scene of sorts, decent accommodation, tarmac roads. But obviously someone up the chain of command thinks I've had too much of a soft life so they send us here. A ramshackle tented camp 80km from the border. KDF are holding back the latest flood of refugees from the fighting here but it's closer than any of us are comfortable with. 80km is a few hours in a minibus, even on these roads. They reckon the Yanks have got drones watching the border, they like to talk and chuck technology at things. I don't see them putting their troops out here. The buggers wouldn't go anywhere that didn't have a Subway for a start.

So there's us, with a handful of KDF operating out of what used to be a couple of roadside shops. They're bullet holes in the walls from the last time the Al Shabab paid a visit on their way back across the border. The refugees are camped out along the line of the road, 5 or 6 tents deep in places. They are fenced in by makeshift barriers of thorn scrub. Mainly to keep the goats in, rather than keep anyone out. Our compound is secured by a perimeter fence and a few road blocks, but it still feels exposed. None of us can relax. At the other end of the camp is a Kenyan run mission post; they distribute aid and medical help when they have it, which is intermittent at best. Supply lines aren't the most reliable. We help as much as we can, probably bending the rules too far but we're in this together. The place stinks of people, charcoal fires and goat shit.

The convoy will be bringing the new platoon and Captain Harrison will be handing over and shipping out tomorrow. You can feel the compound buzzing with excitement, these guys are ready to get going. Four months of this is enough for them. I've been here for six weeks, nearly half way through my stint.

The convoy will also be bringing the post. It's been 3 weeks since our last mail drop. I hope Chrissie has managed to get everything I asked for and that she managed to send it on time. It may only be bored squaddies and goats for company out here but I need those veet strips. I look like the love child of Noel Gallagher and Tom Seleck. I owe a deodorant stick to Grace at the Mission post as well, and boy do you need good deodorant out here. You're lucky to get two showers a week. I'm getting good at making the most of a bucket shower.

It doesn't do to think too much about luxuries like plumbing. Hannah and me had a two hour conversation last week about an evening at home in our pjs watching crappy films on the sofa. She wanted to watch Love Actually so she could think about being in snowy cold London; I fancied Legally Blonde. We almost fell out over whether you should have salted or sweet popcorn.

We're principally an medical facility. There's Major Croft our MO, a and Hannah and me who are CMTs. Hannah is a Lance Corporal and depending on the number in the support platoon we can also have another 2 or so CMTs. We also share resource and shifts with the KDF medics. Both Hannah and I were special forces CMTs, the fact that we are posted together somewhere like this is not lost on us. Someone, somewhere is expecting some serious shit to go down.

* * *

We watch the convoy pull up in front of the Ops tent. Two of the three trucks empty out. They're all male, so we don't have to find any more space in our cramped tent. I know it sounds like I'm whining but I'm really glad we don't have to put anyone else up. The guys are a mixture of excited and on edge, you can spot the old hands; they don't look so rattled by the 5 hour bone juddering last leg of the journey. They all look hot and covered in dust.

"Oh god, a ginger" Hannah mutters "he looks like a lobster at a barbecue already" I follow her eyeline to one of the soldiers whose sunburnt face is pinker than my knickers.

"Better get him a welcome present of some aftersun"

"Here we go then; back to square one." Hannah sighs, "Never thought I'd say it but I think I might actually miss the last bunch"

"Better the devil you know is it?"

"Too right. Better the devil you know how to avoid or get rid of. This lot look like they've just wandered out of the recruitment office"

"Give them a chance eh?"

"I'll remind you of that after tomorrow's surgery shall I?" she laughs, giving me a nudge. "I'll help off load the cargo. See what Santa's elves in BPST have sent us this time" she steps off the verandah of the old shop front and makes her way to the convoy. I'm watching the lads shuffling into their sections; their eyes follow her and she glances back at me. I raise my eyebrows. She wants me to watch the new lads and report their reactions back to her. "Don't forget to check if they sent us that bulk order of tampax and thrush cream" I shout back at her loud enough so everyone can hear. She flicks a V sign at me and I head back into the clinic to make some space for the new supplies.

* * *

"Ahh Lane. There you are"

I whip round at the sound of Harrison's voice, standing to attention. He's not much of one for formalities, but I see the new CO is with him, so I play along; always best to look keen.

"Yes, yes. At ease" he mutters, words he hasn't said to me since our first meeting. "Captain James, this is Corporal Lane, our most senior CMT."

"Pleased to meet you" Captain James shakes my hand and I get a chance to view him up close. He's tall, broad shouldered and has a firm grip. His hand is slightly damp, he's not used to the heat yet. His hair is a dark brown, parted on the left. It looks like it would have a slight curl when it gets longer. He has high cheekbones and dark brown eyes framed by dark lashes. There's a bloom of stubble on his chin and shadows under his eyes. His tone is neutral, professional; he's not giving anything away.

I start on my spiel about the setup, nothing he won't know if he's read his briefing notes. He's only bringing one CMT with two sections, meaning either Hannah or I will have to fill the gap. I put this idea to him and he nods, we will need to meet and discuss this once he's got his briefing out of the way. Harrison whisks him away before anything else can be discussed.

Hannah barges in carrying three boxes of supplies balanced on top of one another and I rush to rescue the top one before it falls on the floor. "So then" she doesn't even pause to put them down "what's he like?"

"Who?"

The new Platoon Commander, I saw Harrison bring him in"

I shrug, I can't really say on the basis of a two minute introduction. "Alright, I suppose. Short staffed so looks like we're going to be going on patrol a bit more. We'll find some time to divvy up the work once I've met with him"

"He's got a nice arse"

"Hannah!"

"Just saying. Regular two boiled eggs in a hanky. I only took in the back view, but I'm not complaining so far" she grins; that girl has a mind like a sewer. "What's the view like from the front then?"

"I dunno. Okay I suppose. He's bloody tall"

"Wedding ring?"

"Didn't look"

"Rear end like that probably won't have the face to match. Laws of probability ain't it?"

"He could be gay"

"Nowt wrong with a bit of window shopping" she heads out for another load while I start opening the crates. It's mostly dressings and minor injury stuff which is what we get through the most of. I put aside some saline that needs to go up to the mission to replace what we borrowed.

"You do realise that this is the army don't you" I say as I hear her come back in "not a dating service. Ever heard the phrase 'don't shit on your own doorstep?'"

"I puked on the doorstep once. My mum weren't happy. Imagine she'd go ballistic if someone crapped on it." Comes the reply from a male voice that definitely isn't Hannah.

I spin round, the ginger soldier we had seen getting off the transport is standing in the doorway. Up close the sunburn looks bad, pink and glistening with a sheen of sweat. "Our medic Tony says I need some after sun" he says, stating the obvious. One point to Tony.

"Ok. Just hop up on the bench and I'll get you sorted once I've squared this lot away…." I leave a pause waiting for him to fill in the gap with his name. He doesn't oblige, but does as he's told sitting on the treatment bench, looking all around the room like a cross between an eager puppy and a curious toddler. I'm suddenly reminded of Aaron and my heart gives a little squeeze, and the emptiness inside me hollows out a little more.

Shaking my head I turn to prepare what I need to treat the sunburn. "Any pain or headache?" I ask, I'm going to need to keep an eye on him in case it turns to sunstroke, the new lads are prone to misjudge the power of the sun, though God knows how, it's roasting here. I pour a large cup of water and hand it to him "Any asthma or respiratory conditions?" He shakes his head and I drop 2 ibuprofen into his hand. "Drink up and lie down" I tell him.

"You know what" he drains the cup and makes himself comfortable "that has to be the best chat up line I ever heard." He's obviously very pleased with that one, he keeps smirking to himself and occasionally letting out a small snigger. I get the gel packs from the fridge and momentarily wonder if I can cover his head in ice just to show him how the land lies, but ice is a luxury too far out here.

There's a knock on the door and another one of the new contingent sticks their head round the door. "There you are knob head" he addresses the ginger haired private "Tony meant for you see the medic _after_ the boss had done his briefing. He wants to see you after"

"Bet I didn't miss much. One of his 110% speeches again was it? That man needs some new material" he winces as I slap a cold gel pack over his forehead a bit firmer than necessary, "Jesus, that's cold"

"You need to leave it on for 10 minutes Private" I use my 'don't mess with me' voice. "Can you explain why you weren't wearing any sunscreen?"

He turns to look at his mate "Cos of twats like him." His mate holds up his hands, "Leave me out of this. You got what you deserved"

I clear my throat, reminding them I'm still waiting for a reasonable answer.

"Sorry ma'am" the friend notices my stripes at last "Mansfield here played a practical joke on one of our section who then told him he'd, um, _interfered_ with his sunscreen, so Mansfield refused to wear it." His Liverpudlian accent is soft but grows slighter still when he's addressing me.

"And don't tell me, it was by accident that Private Mansfield here was sitting by the tailgate all day" I give him a slight grin to put him at his ease.

"Nah, I get dead travel sick if I can't see out" Mansfield pipes up from under the gel pack and I have to bite my lip to stop myself laughing.

"Well you can't be out here without sunscreen. Do you have any more?" I think of our tiny supply and hope there's more in this consignment, or else someone is going to have to fashion him a balaclava from a pair of pants.

"Molly should be sending me some out in a few days" he wriggles slightly and the gel pack slips over his eyes.

"We only get mail every 2 or 3 weeks at best. You're going to have to find something before then."

"He can wear what he's brought" his friend chips in "There's nothing wrong with it. Dangles was just winding you up"

"I don't believe you"

"Well you're going to have to because that's all there is. Stop bloody whining about it" His friend sighs and runs his hand through his hair. Something tells me that he's spent a good part of the last few years talking Mansfield in or out of his decisions.

"Can you just help me move some boxes?" I ask, fabricating an excuse to leave the room and continue this discussion in private. We step outside into the corridor, which is empty save for one small box which doesn't look very heavy. My companion raises his eyebrows.

"I don't mean to come over all sexist, but I've ain't met a female medic who couldn't lift something of that size."

"I needed a word in private" I reply "sorry I didn't catch your name"

"Brains" It's my turn to raise my eyebrows "Don't ask" he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"OK Brains, what exactly happened with the suncream to make him refuse to put it on?"

He raises his eyes to mine as a faint blush rises up his neck. "You really want to know?"

"I do" I reply.

* * *

"They did what?" Hannah shrieks. She's sitting on her bed stripped down to a vest and underwear, her towel resting in her lap before she goes off for her shower.

"It was revenge. Mansfield, that's the sunburn case, had found some really grim porn shoved in an empty locker in Nanyuki. Really dodgy stuff apparently. So he took a photo of it and sent it to his mates' wife saying he was enjoying the local entertainment. Apparently she's 8 months pregnant and didn't get the joke. She ripped her husband a new one over the phone." I stop to catch my breath and wipe my eyes, the tears of laughter have started before I've even reached the punchline. "Dangles gets his revenge by telling Mansfield that he's spunked in his suncream bottle, so he refused to wear it. Then the dozy twat then sat by the open tailgate all the way here and got fried."

Hannah has her head in her hands and I can see her shoulders shaking as she laughs. "And did he...you know...in the bottle."

"Brains says no, but Mansfield's having none of it. Obviously some trust issues there." I'm grinning like an idiot at the situation.

"Oh these lot are going to be fun." She wipes a tear from her eye.

"Yeah, I'm reserving judgement on that. They could easily be a bunch of numpties."

Hannah sighs. I know she thinks I'm too straight laced, it seems that's my reputation these days. That I suck the fun out of every situation. "Lighten up Georgie" she stands gathering her wash kit under her arm "otherwise you're going to think life's nothing but a pain in the arse."

"Yeah, yeah" I've heard it all before. I like fun, I do. And banter, a bit of a joke. Well, to a point. Usually that point is when it starts getting personal, when it's not fun anymore but the momentum carries it on. I do like to cut loose, do myself up, have fun, clubs, bars, festivals. All of it. But I like to do it on my own time. We all have pressure valves that we need to release, I just prefer to do mine away from work.

Hannah pauses in the doorway and looks back at me. "Did you get your post?" Reading my expression she knows I haven't "On the desk in the office." She heads off to the delights of a bucket of tepid water in a dingy concrete room.

* * *

The office is a small room in the main building. The building used to be a row of shops, a series of lock ups fronted by a deep verandah and set back about 10 meters from what was once the main road. Not so long ago this was a little settlement, the shops mainly serving the minibuses that ran between the border and Garissa. When it was requisitioned by the KDF they bricked up the front and the verandah became a corridor that runs the length of the building. It's used as an administrative base, the main command offices are here including the medical officer's. One room is reserved as a treatment room for more severe casualties and we can erect a clean room in there should we need to carry out emergency surgery. Our office is off this and is barely bigger than a cupboard; in fact I think it's officially designated as the pharmacy.

It's dark now, but I'm familiar with the layout so I can make my way across the room by the light of the camp security that seeps through the gaps in the shutters. On the desk I can make out a parcel, about shoe box sized. My heart leaps, full of hope that at last Chrissie has thawed and written to me. I've missed her so much since I've been here. I could kick myself for letting us part on bad terms. Switching on the small solar lamp on the desk my heart breaks a little as I see address on the parcel is written in Mum's writing. I grab some scissors, scoring the tape to open the package. Tucked between a couple of magzines and the much needed wax strips there's a letter.

" _Dear Georgie'_

 _How are you doing darling? We haven't heard from you since last week; Chrissie said that she had letter from you this week but it had been written 2 weeks ago. She says you had said that you don't get post very often. She asked me to send this off, she doesn't have time to do you a letter this week as Aaron has been off nursery all week with chicken pox. She gave me a list. I hope I got everything you wanted. I've added a few bits from me as well; Tania off the makeup counter gave me a whole bunch of samples when I said I was sending you a parcel. I know you can't wear the make up so I kept it back for you at home. There was a lovely lipstick in there, I might have to swipe it!_

 _Aaron also did you a little picture at nursery. I reckon his nursery worker did most of it, but there's a few splodges and hand prints that are definitely his. I've tucked it into one of the magazines so it won't get spoiled on the way. Chrissie brought him over the other weekend, he was into everything. Emptied one of my kitchen cupboards all over the floor, luckily I caught him before he worked out how to get into the pasta. He's such a bright and cheery chap. I got some lovely Nana cuddles and a photo to show the girls at work."_

I put the letter down, not able to read any further through the tears that pricked my eyes. It seemed so unfair to be jealous of my Mum, spending time with Aaron, getting cuddles. Just a few weeks ago I was doing the same. Before I went and fucked it up. I took a deep breath, swiping the tears from my eyes. Pulling the magazines from the parcel I flicked through them before the painting fell out of a copy of Hello!. I couldn't make out all the colours properly in the dim light; it wasn't anything more than brush marks and drips and a hand print in the middle of it all. I traced my fingers over the impression left behind by a small pudgy hand. God I missed him.

There was a discreet cough from outside the door. I looked up, thankful that my tears had probably dried. It doesn't do to show others how much news from home affects you.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you Corporal Lane" It's the new Captain, Captain James. He clears his throat, shifting slightly on his feet as his eyes flicker over the room.

"Not at all. I was just collecting my post" I tuck Aaron's picture back into the magazine, tucking it and Mum's letter away to read later.

"Ahh yes. Harrison tells me that the mail drops are rather infrequent. I had hoped to get a letter off with them tomorrow. Never know when the next chance will arise"

"I'd say that's sensible" I make a mental note to write a quick thanks to mum, and a little note to Chrissie. I don't know what I can say to her, and she'll probably chuck it in the bin. Maybe just a hope Aaron is better now message. I realise that I've stopped talking and I'm staring into space, or rather it would be space if Captain James wasn't standing in the doorway. It must look like I'm staring somewhere in the region of his thighs or worse.

"I...err..I was wondering if I could grab you for 10 minutes or so?" he obviously thinks I'm staring at his crotch. Shit. Poor bugger looks about as embarrassed as I feel "I know we said tomorrow, but it would give me more time for handover in the morning if we could attend to it now"

"Yes. Of course." I stand, smoothing my uniform.

"Excellent" He stands aside from the doorway and motions for me to lead the way.

* * *

"I'm glad to see we're on the same page" Captain James sits back in his chair, discarding his pen on top of a notebook. He's been writing as we've talked about providing CMT cover on patrols. We've already covered the first week, who will be going out on routine patrols, and who will stay back at the base. He wants to put on 3 patrols a day initially, obviously feels the need make the presence of the new company clear, as well as familiarise the troops with the area as soon as possible.

"Now," he continues "a few other matters" he shuffles in his seat and glances away briefly. Something in me starts to feel unsettled. "You may have heard that we have some journalists embedded with us" I shake my head, this isn't something that had made it's way to us yet. "Yes" he clears his throat and shuflles again. My suspicions are starting to grow, he's not really come across as the fidgety type before now. "Reporter, producer and small crew." I inwardly sigh. They will inevitably take a bit more looking after, no wonder he wants medical presence on each patrol. "They have received basic training in field first aid, but I was wondering if you might be able to go over things again. I always think it's beneficial to show rather than tell, and to remind them of the uniqueness of their situation when in situ"

"Of course, sir" He sighs, and I think he's relaxed a little, like he had been nervous about telling me about the journalist. He leans forward, picking up his pen once more. He fiddles with it, spinning it between his fingers, tapping it against the edge of the desk. Across the desk are maps and plans of the encampment, he's obviously familiarising himself with it as much as he can. In a shadow underneath his desk lamp I can just make out a small photo frame. One of those soft leather ones that fold out like a book. On one side there is a photo of a boy; older than Aaron, probably seven or so, it's hard to tell kids ages when you don't have them yourself. It's a school photo, a posh looking school at that; the kid is dressed in a striped blazer, his hair neatly parted and combed down much like Captain James'. There's another photo of the boy on the other side, this time with a brown haired woman, her arm around him. They are leaning towards the camera, sticking their tongues out; their eyes scrunched in laughter, a moment of silliness and love captured perfectly. They must be his family. At least I can call Hannah off now. I glance down, checking his hands. No wedding ring.

"I think that's all for now then" I stand, shoulders back, arms squared away as I am dismissed "I'll let you get off and write that letter" he glances at the frame before looking back to me. "Goodnight Lane"

* * *

Captain James is right. I should get a letter written tonight; best not to leave it until the morning, they have a habit of filling up and Harrison and the lads will be looking to get away early. So instead of going back to my quarters I make my way back to the office. The door to the treatment room is ajar and I'm immediately on alert, I make a habit of closing the door on my way out. I could have forgotten, it's a possibility. Or Hannah might have come back for something; I've been with Captain James for a good twenty minutes, but old habits run deep and I'm feeling on edge.

Stupidly I didn't bring my torch; I know there's a solar powered lantern just inside the door and I move closer, as quietly as I can. All is quiet and still. I'm probably being over cautious. Hannah could be in and there I'm going to feel like a prize tit creeping up on her like I'm on special ops or something. I gently push the door, scanning the room, I don't see anything, there's some light from the lamp in the office. The room looks clear and I relax a little. Feeling less like I need to creep silently I cross the room in a couple of strides, mentally writing the letter to mum in my head, running through the things I will say, keeping the tone light, not to worry her. There's still a stack of blueys in the top drawer of the desk, Hannah isn't the biggest letter writer.

The door bumps against something as I push it open and I'm immediately on my guard. I can't get it fully open, whatever's in the way is just behind the door. My hand moves to my side, hovering over the butt of my pistol. I hear movement behind the door and it swings open a little more, whatever or whoever was behind it has moved. I realise I'm at a disadvantage, my eyes accustomed to the darkness will take longer to adjust to the light. As I try and step back into the shadows the door opens wider, the light now framing the tall slender silhouette of a man.

"Don't move; I've seen what you can do to a man, Killjoy"

Oh god. Him. The air seems to leave my lungs of its own accord, my heart, already hammering in my chest feels like it's skipping beats, darting and jumping in my mouth. My hand drops from my side as I step back into the light. It's him alright. I'd recognise his smooth tones, the way his voice lingers over his name for me. A sarcastic, teasing caress designed to provoke a reaction. Killjoy.

"Your reactions could have been better, but good to see the instincts are still in place" one side of his mouth quirks up as he coolly looks me up and down. I can feel his eyes running over me, assessing me. I know how his brain works, weighing up the positives and negatives, reading the little cues that most would miss.

His hair is much longer than it had been the last time I saw him. It falls across his eyes, brushing the collar of a tatty looking t shirt. A t shirt for a band I know he doesn't like. There's so much about his appearance that doesn't ring true. At first glance the t shirt looks tatty, but the rips at the neck look clean and fresh, and not somewhere you would expect wear and tear. He's wearing dark trousers, combats, but there's the faint hint of a crease ironed into them. He looks...not uncomfortable, but... unfamiliar with the outfit. Like its a costume that someone has picked out for him. His bearing still screams Sandhurst, like he can't let his shoulders drop, or his back slouch. Now I understand why Captain James seemed so uncomfortable before. Why he was confident and assured when we we discussing operational resources, but hemmed and hawed about the 'journalist'. Harte is no more a journalist than I am a ballet dancer.

"Whose idea was the journalist cover?" I cut to the chase, I don't want to leave him in any doubt that I know exactly what he is. That he's not fooling me.

He pulls a face, his wide mouth grimaces. "Not buying it eh?"

"I'd have to see the others, but you're the most unlikely civvie I've seen in a long time."

"What can I say?" he shrugs. "It was the most plausible scenario they could think of. I was going for private security but they thought that would make people twitchy."

"How many others?"

"Two with me"

"And who else?"

"Oh Lane. Don't be naive. You know I can't tell you that." He tilts his head, smirking. Patronising me like I'm some silly girl. He's trying to push my buttons and get a rise out of me but I'm not playing along.

He leans against the desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. Leaning back he plucks one of my magazines of the desk, flicking idly past the pictures of soap stars cradling babies in immaculately styled houses. "Seriously Lane" he discards the magazine back on the desk "what do you see in this guff?" I'm taking it as a rhetorical question, or not one that warrants an answer at any rate. "Time was when you used to take your decompression a little more horizontally, remember?" He raises an eyebrow in what I suppose he thinks is a suggestive manner.

He's trying every tack, using all his tools too quickly, prodding and prodding, trying to get me on the back foot. It strikes me that he's nervous; arrogance always was his defence mechanism. He may know me inside out and back to front but he forgets that it cuts both ways.

"If there is a medical need for you to be here, Lieutenant.."

"Captain, actually" with this he stands, dropping the paper clip he's been fiddling with to the floor. "But of course, here and now it's Elvis. I'm going to enjoy hearing you say that again"

He moves to the door. The room, barely a cupboard is small to start with, but smaller now with two people standing in it. I make no attempt to stand aside and let him pass. Glancing briefly at the dark room behind me he steps closer still.

"Still so tightly laced, Killjoy" his hand moves slowly in parallel with my body, slowing as it draws level with my chest. I try to control my breathing, keep it steady and not betray the kick in my heart rate. He glances up, I know he can see the pulse in my neck. Holding my gaze he starts to talk again, his words punctuating each movement of his finger "You. need. To. lighten. Up." His finger brushes under my chin, tilting my face up towards him as he leans in closer until I can feel his breath on my lips. I look into his eyes, dark brown, thick long lashes that almost brush his cheeks. Except they aren't just his eyes anymore. They're also Aaron's eyes.

"Get the fuck out of my office" I whisper


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews for chapter 2, they are greatly appreciated - usually I'm so excited to be sharing something I've been working on (not to mention thrilled I've finished) that I don't have time to worry, but this one has worried me because I'm stepping out of the series 1 mould and building a new story with characters we haven't been introduced to yet.**

 **So, now it's time for a little back story to Lane and Harte. Cue the wobbly screen effect a la Wayne's World…...**

2012

It was a hot August day. The racecourse was gleaming green in the summer sunshine. It was Ladies Day; far off the crowd must have looked like an artist's palette, every colour imaginable mingling, the breeze ruffling the sea of feathers and net on fascinators and hats. I clasped a flute of champagne in my hand, the enclosure badge dangling at my wrist. The wind picked up, blowing my hair across my face, Izzy laughed at me as I struggled to fish the hair out of my mouth and tuck it behind my ear whilst clasping my clutch bag under my armpit.

"Bugger off" I hooked the last tendrils from my mouth where they had got stuck in my lipgloss.

"Next year you should come in your whotsit thingy" she mimed pulling something over her head, sloshing Pimms over her wrist.

"PLCE. Well not unless they start to issue them with a wineglass holder. Here hold this. And don't drink it" I pass her my glass and fished inside my clutch for a tissue.

"Are we betting on the next race?" I mop the Pimms from her arm, tutting as she starts to lick the liquid off it, but spilling more as she does. "Stop that. You can't lick your own elbow. It's anatomically impossible"

"Says you" she tries again. She's ridiculously pissed and it's only 15:00hrs. She's been on 5:2 all week, which in Izzy's case means fast days every day because she wanted to get into her Ladies Day dress. Her plan is to get hammered this weekend and back on the diet Monday to fit into her wedding dress next week. In reality it means getting drunk and complaining about how much she really wants a Big Mac.

"Come on" I tuck the soggy tissue back in my bag, rescue my drink and clasp her by the hand, leading her through the crowds towards the paddock. She stumbles a little, her heels sinking into the soft turf with each step. The closer we get the thicker the crowds become and I hold on tighter in case I lose her.

We're nearly at the paddock when I hear her cries "Get off!"

"Come on darlin'" the voice is male, slurring over his words

"Get. Off." There's a panicked edge to her voice and she's wriggling her hand out of mine as I turn back to her. There's a man stood close to her. He's massive, his light tan suit stretched taut over his broad shoulders, bald head gleaming in the sunshine, a thick roll of neck fat spilling over the collar of his shirt. He's got his hand on Izzy, his fingers like fat stubby sausages digging into her dress.

"Get the fuck off her" I push his hand away, using my body to shield Izzy, who totters on her heels but stays upright.

"What's the matter love, scared you gonna miss out?" He lunges and I dodge. His hand comes for me again, grabbing at my crotch "don't fret. Plenty to go round" his hand brushes against me and I grab as his disgusting pudgy fingers, bending them backwards. Holding on I yank his hand down then twist his arm behind him, upwards, behind his back. He's a big bastard, I have to step around the bulk of him. I get my leg in front of his, shoving with all my weight and tripping him to the floor. I hear a wrenching of fabric and I hope to god I haven't split the seam in my dress; Chrissie would have my guts if I did. I'm lucky he's so drunk, I don't think I could have taken him down if he had been sober. I kneel on his back, deliberately pushing my knee between his shoulder blades, it's like sitting on a pig, he's solid and I'm not going to be able to keep him here.

"Didn't you hear her, you ignorant gobshite? She said leave her alone" I yell, the anger firing in my belly, I use it to focus my strength. From somewhere over my shoulder I hear a whoop and someone yells "you tell him". I've drawn a crowd, no one is interested in the racehorses being paraded around the ring. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I try to shake it off.

"I'd advise you leave the gentleman alone, Madam' a steward leans over, pulling me off. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave" he looks anything but sorry.

"He assaulted my friend" I look round for Izzy, she's staring at me with eyes like saucers. "He grabbed her and wouldn't let her go"

The steward's face remains blank "That's as may be, but we're still going to ask you to leave"

"And where were you?" I can hear a groan from the ground as drunk pig man is trying to lift his bulk off the floor "when this bloke was feeling up my mate and no doubt grabbing at anything that walked by? Why aren't you asking him to leave?" I'm in full flow now, furious at the poor bugger who is looking increasingly out of his depth.

"Now then madam" he switches to a placating tone "why don't you just come away and we can discuss it calmly" he fiddles with the controls to his earpiece, probably switching it to mad bitch alert channel.

"Excuse me a moment" a smooth voice interrupts over my shoulder "this lady was defending her friends virtue" - Izzy giggles, we gave up on her virtue years ago. I shoot her a look and she clamps her lips shut "my companion here may have been a little _over zealous_ in her dealings…" He clears his throat and the realisation that I recognise his voice begins to creep over me, a cold dread settling at the back of my neck "...with this chap"

"She's a bloody nut job" Fat pig man stumbles to his feet, rubbing his pudgy fingers with his other hand.

"Nevertheless," the pitch of his voice rises and I know I can't have been mistaken "I don't doubt that she was provoked into her actions and acted in defence of her friend, or indeed herself"

I turn, suspecting who it is but holding onto a slim hope that I could still be wrong. Our eyes meet, he raises his eyebrows slightly, a silent familiar signal to follow along.

"Perhaps you and your companion would care to join me in the pavilion,Sir. To discuss matters further"

"I think that would be an excellent idea" he replies calmly before glancing down at me "Don't you?"

* * *

They've sat us in some small private room, it looks like a meeting or conference room. Thick doors and shiny panelling separate us from the rest of the racegoers in the members lounge on the other side. Behind me there's a view over the racecourse. I'm slumped in the seat, staring at my reflection in the polished table. Neither of us have said a word to the other since the steward and the head of security left to go over the CCTV footage.

Harte crosses to a side table, pouring a glass of water before walking over and placing it in front of me. I glance up "thanks" I say quietly.

He pulls the seat next to me out and sits, leaning back with his leg balanced across his knee. He's impressively calm, he doesn't fidget or make any movement. He inches his long leg towards me, nudging his foot with mine.

"Don't worry. It will be fine"

"That's easy for you to say. I'm going to get chucked out and ruin my friend's hen weekend. Not to mention this getting back to base." I hold my head in my hands "Oh god. I'm going to be confined to barracks next week and miss her wedding."

"No you're not. You did nothing wrong"

"I took a man out"

He chuckles "That was priceless. I've got half a mind to nominate you for the next inter-regimental wrestling match"

"It's not funny" the sides of my mouth start to form a smile and I try to control them.

"Lane" he nudges my foot again until I look him in the eye "The man was drunk and groping women. Do you really think that's the sort of thing this lot want to go public? One click and this can go on YouTube. You'll be a viral sensation"

I can feel the colour draining from my face and my arse clenching in fear. If this went online that would be it for my career.

"I'll be court martialed" I gasp

"No you won't." he's so bloody calm I want to lamp him one with my handbag, but that would just add assaulting an officer to my charge sheet. "I'm not going to put anything online, just suggest that it might be a possibility"

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my eyes narrow.

"I can't leave one of my men hanging, now can I?"

* * *

"Watch out, there's a ninja about!" Izzy shouts out across the enclosure. She and the other girls have commandeered a table and she looks like she's been making full use of the bar. She crouches down as far as the combination of her heels and dress will allow, holding her arms perpendicular to her body. She's steaming drunk. "Whaa-zaa!" She attempts a karate chop and wobbles as I rush forward to catch her.

Holding her up she turns her glazed eyes on me "Georgie Lane….you're my hero" she descends into fits of giggles, as if this was the best joke she's ever heard.

"This must be the beautiful bride" Harte smiles smoothly, taking Izzy's hand and leading her back to the table. "Ooh, you're lovely" Izzy tucks her arm in his, leaning on him more than she needs to. She runs her hand up and down his arm "and strong too. Are you my entertainment for the afternoon?"

He gives a nervous laugh "I don't think I'd be much good in that capacity" Izzy pouts. "But this might help" he places an ice bucket and bottle of champagne on the table "by way of an apology from the racecourse". A little round of applause flutters through the girls and I'm convinced I see the slightest blush on his cheek. He smiles as he lifts the bottle, deftly removing the cage and easing the cork out without spilling a drop. He's got the girls in the palm of his hand, each of them gazing at him as he makes small talk, filling glasses and passing them around. He looks good, dark blue suit, slim fitting, accentuating his slim hips and long legs. He charms them with smiles and plies them with alcohol; if any of them are in a state to remember this they will be talking about it for months. The bottle drained he turns to me "Lane. You haven't got a drink, here, have mine." I try to refuse but he won't take no for an answer, as he passes a flute to me. "I'll get another" he cuts me off before I can protest any further. He makes his way to the bar and as he's barely out of earshot when Izzy pipes up "Where the fuck did you find _that_?" I glance up at his retreating figure as he glances back, catching my eye and grinning.

* * *

The Chester Travelodge is probably used to hosting drunk hen parties, at least they seemed completely unfazed at the sight of us stumbling up the stairs holding Izzy upright. Two bottles of champagne were followed by a win on a race which funded another two bottles. By seven o'clock all the steam had run out of the party and we found ourselves in a chain pizza restaurant wedged onto a table between an eight year olds birthday party and an elderly couple who barely said two words to each other all evening. Even with her stomach lined with pizza and garlic bread it looked unlikely that Izzy would make it past the door of any bar or nightclub. At this point her sister Sarah, insisted on taking her back to the hotel to sleep it off and ignoring the indignant mumbles from Izzy as we walked her back very slowly.

Sitting in a bland hotel room next to a snoring Izzy with a cup of tea and Casualty on the tele was not really what I had planned for this weekend. Sarah on the other hand looked pretty happy with the arrangement, like she was waiting for an excuse to put on her pyjamas and settle down for the evening. She said that she would sit in with Izzy to 'make sure she was alright' and that I should go off and rejoin the party. The rest of the girls had already headed back out, off in search of dancing and whatever else they could get their hands on. They had promised to call me when they got somewhere but after an hour and nothing from them it seemed like the best course of action would be to head into town and track them down myself.

As I was making my way back to reception for the number of a taxi my phone began to ring. I answered without thinking.

"Where are you? I'm just getting a taxi"

There was laughter at the end of the line, "Well, that was easy"

"Shite" I mouthed to myself before clearing my throat "Sorry sir. Thought you were someone else"

"Shame" he paused, leaving a moment of silence stretching out longer than was comfortable. "I was going to ask if you'd care to join me, but if you have plans…." Once again he left a long unfilled silence, an invitation for me to jump in with both feet.

I understood what he was asking, and I knew that I wanted to accept. He was a good looking man. That much was obvious. He was also charming, friendly, funny, and laid back; all things I had discovered today. He was also one of my unit.

He had only come on board a few months before, and on a day to day basis we had little to do with each other. We had been on a few short exercises, and he had been professional and competent. I knew _of_ him rather than knew him, but we were working towards deployment, and getting involved with anyone at this point was a bad idea, getting involved with one of my unit was forbidden and foolish for more reasons than just that.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea Sir" I squeezed my eyes shut and leant against the wall, trying to clear my mind of the thoughts that crowded in as soon as the words had formed on my tongue. The smell of his aftershave, the brush of his hand against my bare arm as he had walked me towards the pavilion. The thought of him pushing me against the dark panelling of the meeting room, his long slender body pressing against mine. His hands on me, tugging my dress up. I had thought it then and now as I was on the verge of refusing it I wanted it more than ever. To lose myself in the feelings and sensations he had stirred up.

"Killjoy" his tone was teasing and I could picture him, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"But the rules…" My excuse seemed small and petty, feeble in the face of the desire that coursed through me, throbbing and aching deep in my belly.

"Rules bend Lane. They have a little give in them, just enough not to break" Honeyed tones is what my Gran would have called them, and now I understood what she meant. His words spread sweetly over my willpower, corrosive and suffocating, seeping into the cracks of my flimsy resolve.

* * *

His hotel was definitely nicer than the Travelodge. A tall Georgian building of red brick with a deep terrace and formal gardens sweeping down to the river. He met me on the terrace, a large glass of white wine stood ready for me, condensation beading its side. It was a thoughtful touch; we both knew why we were there, he could have expected me to come straight to his room, but he had insisted on the terrace. Maybe he wanted to give me the space to change my mind, or maybe to tease out the waiting a little longer, to make the capitulation all the sweeter for the delay.

The first few moments were tense and stilted. I tried not to gulp my wine down to cover my nerves and both of us avoided talking about work. There were great long pauses where we pretended we weren't looking at each other, feigning interest in the view, or the garden. I fiddled with the stem of my wine glass, twisting it between my fingers, counting to 30 in my head before I let myself lift it to my lips again. He leant across the table, stilling my hand as his thumb brushed slowly over my wrist.

"Izzy. Tell me about Izzy" he murmured, his thumb moved across each vein. "How are you friends?"

"College. Foundation year." I'm tripping over the words to get them out; as his thumb moved in small circles.

"Are you nervous, Lane?"

I paused for a moment, searching for the right words, taking a gulp of wine to buy extra time "No" I am and it's probably obvious, but it's an excited nervous. Just the touch of his fingertips on my skin are enough to set my heart racing and lust coursing through me. It's been quite a while for me.

His thumb pauses, then returns to my wrist, bumping gently over the tendons. His eyes flicker to mine, crinkling as he smiles. He can see how much I want this, it's written clearly on my face and in the hammering of my pulse. The grin widens as he sits back on his chair, relinquishing my hand as he pushes his hair off his forehead. Making himself comfortable he takes a sip of his wine "So, you and Izzy. College…." He's toying with me, drawing my anticipation out. He better be good.

So I play along, I tell him about college, meeting Izzy, joining the army to get my nursing training then realising that I enjoyed the army bit more than the nursing and changing to train as a CMT. My first posting in Sierra Leone, coming home and more training, selection to MSU. It's getting a bit too close to shop talk now and I notice he's finished his wine. I sit forward, draining the last of my glass. As I place it back on the table I look him in the eye "Ready now?" He nods. "Well, let's go"

* * *

He stood me at the end of the bed. I wobbled slightly, the last glass of wine had topped me up nicely. I tried to focus on a spot on the wall, telling myself the alcohol is doing this, when in fact it's all me. I'm in a haze of lust and anticipation. He barely touched me on the way to the room, occasionally his arm brushed mine as we walked down the corridor, his hand fleetingly at the small of my back as we entered the lift. I'm primed to every touch, my nerves sparking and jangling, the fire in my belly warmed and ready to ignite. I'm going to go off like a bloody rocket.

Suddenly he was there, in front of me. In the fog of lust I hadn't heard him approaching on the thick soft carpet, I hadn't heard the door click shut. My eyes were level with his chest, he had removed his jacket, the dark burgundy tie loosened, his collar button undone his skin like mocha against the crisp whiteness of the shirt. The thick silk of the tie gleamed in the evening sunlight, like a pool of blood seeping from a vein as it spread across the dust. I closed my eyes, trying to clear my head of the images conjured by my brain. I breathed in deeply, the scent of his aftershave filling my nostrils, spicy, woody notes overlaying the much more familiar smell of flesh warmed by the sun. I opened my eyes and looked up at his face.

"Lane" he whispered the words like a caress, warm breath against my ear. His lips touched my cheek, brushing against my skin. I turned my head towards him, leaning in, searching, hungry for more of him. "Uh-uh, eyes front" he gently moved my head until I faced forward. He moved slowly to my right side, his lips continuing to touch gently against my cheek, my neck. He moved my hair, brushing it over my shoulder, his mouth following where his fingers led. Slowly, slowly he moved behind me, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, but never touching me except for the lightest brush of his lips or fingers.

He ran his fingertips lightly down my arms, goosebumps trailed across my flesh in their wake, his eyes held mine in the reflection of the mirror. His arm came around my waist, unclipping the narrow belt, and letting it fall to the floor. His hands moved to the zip at my back, lowering it slowly. He whispered something against my ear but I didn't hear, mesmerised by the sight of him, deafened by the sound of my breath through my lungs. He pushed the fabric from my shoulders, tugging it gently over my hips and letting it pool on the floor by our feet. The golden glow of the late summer sun caught the bronze threads on my underwear, and the glint of the stud in my navel. His fingers traced over it, brushing against taut skin of my belly. "Ahh, little rebellions eh Lane" he murmured. "Exciting aren't they?"

I gazed at our reflection, watching his hand brushing against my flesh. "Now you" my words breaking the silence. His lips quirked as he let out a small exhalation. I watched him pull at the tie, discarding it to our left, I could feel his fingers working the buttons of his shirt, fiddling with the links at his cuff. The shirt joined the tie on the floor, followed by his trousers, socks and shoes.

Our flesh almost looked as one, his a deep olive, mine shimmering bronze. His hands were back on me, grasping my waist, long fingers splayed over my hips. "Look at us Lane" I was. I was mesmerized at the sight. My brain no longer fuzzed by alcohol, I could see us, devoid of rank, history, expectation. Just us. Now. In this moment.

"Take off your shoes"

I glanced at my feet, soft coral polish on my toes, the delicate straps, my foot pushed up by the high heel. The balls of my feet ached. Once they were off they weren't going back on. "Don't most men prefer them left on?"

"I'm not most men"

* * *

Somewhere on the terrace below something moved and triggered the security light. Briefly the room lightened a little before returning to its previous moonlit state. I moved over Harte with more urgency, the moment getting closer and closer. My thighs hardened as I squeezed against the sensation causing him to gasp and thrust upwards with more force, trying to reclaim the rhythm once more. I leant backwards, easing some of the pressure, wanting us both to last longer this time. The first time had been hard and fast, both of us wound too tightly from the anticipation of evening. Harte's hands grasped my hips, his body moving sinuously as he brought me down to meet his thrusts.

The sensation of his movement began to build inside me, he shifted slightly beneath me and I needed more, collapsing over him, bracing myself above him again as I moved to a quick urgent pace. Taking my time be damned, I needed this now, a selfish greed to take everything I could came over me. "More" I gasped.

"Jesus" he cursed gritting his teeth and rising to the challenge, stoking the fire in me until it shattered like millions of sparks. Harte was rigid beneath me before collapsing back, both of us slick with sweat, our breath coming in gasps. He stroked along my back and I shivered against his touch, my skin almost too sensitive to bear it.

"My god Lane" he eventually panted, still struggling to catch his breath "I think you bit me". I rolled off his body, a small bite mark dented the skin above his collarbone.

"Oops." I rubbed at it, a futile gesture more for effect than anything else. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

He reached out, drawing me against him and pulling the cover over us. "I'm never going to be able to watch your arse going over the assault course wall in quite the same way" he muttered into my hair as my mind started to drift into sleep. I grinned wrapping his arm over me and pulling him closer let myself sink into temporary oblivion.

I had no concept of what time it was when I woke again. The long slow stroke of his fingers from my thigh, over my hip to the indentation of my waist and back down had woken me, along with the slight chill in the air from the open window. The covers had been pushed down, kicked to the foot of the bed. Harte lay behind me, propped up on his elbow, his hand travelling slowly up and down my flank. The heat from his body warmed my back, a delicious contrast to the cool breeze playing over my chest.

He trailed his hands against me more firmly, moulding his palms to the curve of my hip and placing a kiss between my shoulders. Stretching I turned, facing him, the heat of his body warming mine. He looked younger in the moonlight, the shadows across his face softened in the silvery night.

"I should get my things" I spoke quietly. His thumb stroked by bottom lip "Stay" he whispered back before bringing his mouth to mine. "Stay"

* * *

I woke to daylight, groggy, my head furred by too much wine and not enough sleep. I pulled the covers higher over my shoulder and turned away from the window. The bed was empty and the room quiet. I shut my eyes trying to get back to sleep but my ears strained to catch movement or noise from somewhere in the silent room. I could hear birdsong from the garden and the muffled clink of staff laying tables for breakfast on the terrace below. Somewhere down the corridor a door closed and an extractor fan started whirring. I sat up, surveying the room. The bed was high, giving a beautiful view from the window to the river below. The decor was understated and tasteful, the sun reflecting from the burnished paper on the wall behind me giving off a warm glow. The door to the ensuite was ajar and the lights off, I was undoubtedly alone. There was no sign of Harte. His clothes had gone, glancing at the bedside table there was no watch or wallet, no sign that he was near.

I climbed down from the bed, making my way to the bathroom. Damp towels were tucked messily on the towel rail, but again there was no sign of his belongings. I glanced at myself in the mirror, what makeup remained was smudged across my face, my mouth pink and swollen from stubble burn. I tried running my hands through my hair, they got stuck a couple of inches in. I sighed. Whoever came up with the idea that waking the morning after was a romantic and beautiful sight had obviously never done it themselves. I looked a wreck and to top it all off it seemed likely that I would be having to make a walk of shame out of the hotel and possibly settle the bill at the same time. I should have stuck to my room at the Travelodge, at least I had a Groupon for that, this place looked like it would cost a week's wages. Still, I knew where Harte lived, so he would be paying for it in the end, hopefully in more ways than one.

Deciding to make the most of the luxury it looked like I would be paying off for a while to come I climbed into the shower, standing underneath a rainwater head about 2 foot across and letting the warm water drench me, clearing my head if even for only the next ten minutes.

Dressed (the worst of the crumples helped along by hanging the dress in the steamy bathroom), hair dried and teeth sort of brushed with my finger and the complimentary toothpaste I took a few minutes to steel myself for the walk downstairs. My phone battery had died overnight so I couldn't check in with Izzy or any of the hen party to let them know I was ok and on my way back to them. I had breakfasted on a cup of tea and biscuit from the tray in the room but my stomach growled in protest. I checked my reflection in the mirror once more and squared my shoulders. "Right" I said to myself, picking up my bag and checking that my cards and money were still there.

I was cursing my feet to get back into the strappy sandals that I had worn all day yesterday. My calves ached and the balls of my feet throbbed as I stood up from the bed the door opened. "Good, you haven't left" Harte burst in. He was dressed casually, more like I had seen on base, a button down shirt and dark jeans with a chunky belt. In his hand he held a carrier bag which he held out for me to take. "Sorry, these took ages to find, I had to wait for the supermarket to open"

Taking the bag I looked inside, then up at him. He shrugged and smiled, fidgeting from one foot to another; the first time I had ever seen him exhibit any sort of nerves. Reaching in I pulled out a pair of black flip flops. "I thought you might want to spare your feet. We've got that night day exercise later in the week and you need to give them time to recover". I smiled in spite of myself. They were ugly looking things, but a lot more comfortable than my sandals. "My feet say thank you, sir. That was very thoughtful"

"Let's not go back to sir shall we?" he sat next to me on the edge of the bed

"Harte then" I leant to undo the straps at my ankle, feeling slightly self-conscious at the memory of the night before.

He brushed the hair from my shoulder, running his hands over my arm.

"I think we've bent the rules enough for now, don't you?" I glanced up at him.

He dropped his hand to the bed, covering mine. He looked down at them, curling his fingers underneath mine.

"We need some breakfast" he responded, not answering my question.

* * *

"It's like manna from heaven" I insisted, my mouth full of glorious food. "The best thing after a heavy night" Harte looked skeptical. "Try it" I insisted, dipping a hash brown in barbecue sauce. He took a bite before pulling a face and reaching for his coffee to wash the taste away and then pulling a even more disgusted face. Apparently a MacDonald's breakfast wasn't up there on the list of life changing experiences on Harte's bucket list.

"That has to be some of the worst coffee I have ever tasted in my life" he complained. "I didn't think you could legally sell something that bad and still call it coffee" he raised the cup to his face before putting it back down undrunk, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"You some kind of coffee snob then?" I slurped at mine, double shot, extra sugar. I had half a mind to go in for a full fat coke just to round it off.

"Italian mother" he tried another sip of the coffee "good food, good drink; it's very important to her. She would be horrified at this" he gestured at the piles of food wrapping in front of us. "She will insist on knowing everything I ate this weekend"

I catch his eye and grin, raising an eyebrow "Not everything I hope". He splutters into his coffee, coughing as it goes down the wrong way.

"Maybe not _everything_ "

"So you close then?" I try for a more PG rated conversation

"Yeah, they were supposed to be here this weekend; Dad bust his ankle and mum doesn't drive so they insisted I took the hotel and everything, save it going to waste"

"Sorry to hear that. So it's your mum I have to thank for that amazing hotel then?"

"Yeah, I'm more of a bunk down on someone's floor kind of person I suppose. Still I'm beginning to see the attraction of a nice hotel room, even if I don't feel that rested."

"Only yourself to blame, you do know that, don't you" I know what he means. I'm shattered. "So were you celebrating something?"

"Second pip"

"Oh." I put the last of my sausage muffin down "I mean, congratulations, obviously" I hastily wipe my hands on a spare napkin and take a deep breath in, and exhale it slowly. "Have we fucked up?" I ask quietly.

"No." his answer is quick, verging on defensive. "Look. It was a once off. We agreed. It won't get in the way of anything because we won't let it." He looked somewhere over my left shoulder, glancing at his car.

"Yeah. You're right. A once off. We can work together after this. We're grown ups" I scrunch the last of my food up in its wrappers, stuffing it all inside the paper bag, getting ready to leave. "You ok to give me a lift back?" I ask. He nods.


	4. Chapter 4

**To quote the glorious musical episode from Buffy "I think this one's mostly filler"**

I didn't have to think twice about telling Captain James I knew Harte, and by extension that I knew that he wasn't who he was supposed to be. It was the next day, evening time, Hannah was covering surgery and I thought she might need a hand. New lads have a habit of testing the medics; especially when they're female. I spotted Captain James out by the perimeter fence, he was walking back and forth, occasionally looking down at something in his hand. As I got closer he stretched his arm up, holding it up to the sky. It was the sat phone.

"No signal sir?"

He spun round, obviously not hearing my approach "Lane. No, nothing"

"Checked the battery? This one can be a bit prima donna-ish if it doesn't have a full charge"

He glanced down at the display, "yep. All bars"

"Probably the satellites jamming then. The other lads reckoned the signal dropped out when there was action over the border" I inclined my head towards the north east. "Should be back up later."

"Ahh" fleetingly he looked a bit despondent, but just as quickly he adjusted his face back to a neutral expression. "Promised my...home I'd be in touch when I could. Should be home from work soon"

I nodded. I don't really want to know too much about people's personal situation, not these days. "The wife of one of the platoon is due any day now and Molly said she would let me know how things are" he continued. Typical Captain's wife I thought. Busybodying her way around base, sticking her oar in with the wives and families, her husband's progression up the ranks her top priority.

"Is that Dangles?"

"Oh, you've met already?"

I shook my head "His reputation preceded him" Captain James raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side in a silent question "Mansfield's sunburn?" I offered by way of explanation.

"I don't think I want to know" Captain James shook his head in mock weariness.

"Maybe that's for the best" he smiled at me, the tiredness in his eyes lifting slightly. "Anyway sir. I needed to speak with you" I continue "it's, um, well...it's about the journalists"

He placed the sat phone in his pocket and folded his arms over his chest. "Have you had trouble organising the first aid training?" his brow furrows and you can almost hear him thinking.

"No, that's not it" I take a deep breath in "It's Harte, sir. I know him. We were deployed together in Herrick 17. As Special Forces"

"Ah" he rubs his hand over his chin, his lips pursed. "So…?"

"Yes" I answer his unsaid question, shifting my feet slightly as I glance down to the dusty ground.

He draws a deep breath in, holds if for a few seconds and then exhales slowly. "Right"

"Hannah...sorry Lt Corporal Leeston was also Special Forces. I don't know if she recognises anyone; obviously I haven't said anything to her, and I wouldn't expect her to mention it to me, but she might know someone as well. Neither of us would put anything in jeopardy sir, but we were a small group, operationally speaking so it's not beyond the realms of possibility"

"I see" he pauses. His eyes scan the horizon beyond the fence, it's flat, scrubby land without the merit of distant hills to make it an interesting view. I've been staring at it in the same way for months, it feels empty and other-worldly, as if we have been abandoned in the fringes of existence.

He clears his throat "Obviously this is all on a 'need to know' basis, Lane. I appreciate your bringing this to my attention; I don't expect this to alter anything in your dealings with anyone." He's got presence, I'll give him that. He's not questioned anything, just absorbed the new information and moved on; the trajectory never changing. I nod, taking a step back to signal my departure but he's not going to dismiss me yet. "Herrick 17?" He's almost talking to himself "sticky time. A lot of sh.." He catches himself "Lots of action" his gaze returns to the horizon beyond the fence, but his eyes don't focus on the flat thorny scrub, they're seeing the dust and crags of the valleys of Helmand, the distant sand coloured mountains, and the faces that never came back.

* * *

 _2012_

 _We got our orders early in October. I was assigned to the same unit as Harte. He and I had stuck to our agreement, no mention was made of the weekend in Chester, everything as it was before as if nothing had changed._

 _With the orders in the bag training stepped up a pace. Lots of training in small unit tactics, and for me weekly briefings in Aldershot on the latest medical practices. We did a week of chemical warfare training in some god forsaken freezing hellhole in East Anglia with the wind blasting at us apparently from the North Pole. At least in Afghan it would be hot. There wasn't much down time, although there would be an early Christmas break if we were going to deploy by January._

 _We were a small unit, we had two sergeants working with Harte as Lieutenant; Hamid and Bandrill; or Hazmat and Buzzkill as we used to call them. We were a mixture of operational focus and intelligence working; the job in Afghan would be to exploit the intelligence we had from all sources as well as to undertake exercises to eliminate threats or gather more intelligence. The platoon would be based at Bastion, but units would be deployed over Helmand as necessary. The news and the number of casualties coming from Afghan at that time was not positive; even the supposed winter lull wasn't much in evidence that year. Our counterparts who were deployed before us were leading raids on weapons dumps and intercepting supply routes, keeping weapons out of the hands of insurgents; minimising their firepower was crucial to the survival of our troops in the coming fighting season._

 _Close to deployment some bright spark suggested that we needed a social weekend away in our units in order to bond more closely. My idea of nice bonding session would have been a spa break with a full body massage and saunas, but Buzzkill reckoned that a weekend of hill walking and camping in a bunkhouse in November was much more appropriate. The weather was really starting to turn wintery and a weekend on an exposed moorland in Shropshire wasn't exactly high on my wish list. The unit left on the Friday afternoon, the minibus weighed down with equipment borrowed from stores and more slabs of beer than there were people; I followed on in my car direct from medical training in Birmingham, meeting them at the bunkhouse._

 _When I arrived everyone was in good spirits, the cans had been cracked open pretty much the moment they had left base._

" _Late! You're late Lane!" Buzzkill shouted at me as soon as I walked in the door._

" _Well if some knobheads didn't keep calling me every 10 minutes asking me to pop into Tesco for more booze I would have been here quicker" I dumped an armful of carrier bags on the table. They landed with a clink of glass bottles and a giant packed of crisps slithered out of the top of one of them. "Anyone want to give me a hand with the rest of this stuff before my car smells of pizza and kebabs permanently?"_

" _I love the smell of a well stuffed kebab" chipped in Private Monk, earning himself the finger from me and yells from the lads._

" _Chuck us the keys Lane" Harte interrupted before going out to the car to bring the rest in. They fell on the food, their appetites heightened by an afternoon of steady drinking. I had taken the precaution of eating a bag of chips as I'd waited at the take away, knowing that they were going to be hammered by the time I got there and that I would be expected to catch up._

 _From somewhere over my shoulder a hand plonked a bottle of blush wine in front of me "Don't say we don't ever get you nothing Lane"_

" _What the fuck is that?"_

" _Wine for the lady" Hazmat finished his sentence with a belch._

 _I reached for a can of lager and sank half of it in one go "I'm sure Monk will appreciate it. If not you can always take it home to your wife" I pushed a pizza crust away feeling full of food. "Unless you want to make a bet"_

" _Oh you're on Lane."_

" _Great. So whoever loses this bet has to drink the bottle. Do we have wifi?"_

" _A bit slow, why?"_

" _You and me are going to find out who is the dirtiest bastard"_

* * *

 _True to his word Hazmat drank the whole bottle of pink sweet wine. It came back up pretty quickly as well, but he managed to get most of it down the bog. By midnight most had pegged out in the main room of the bunkhouse. A couple of more measured drinkers had even made it to their bunks. I included myself in this group, having not only seen off one Sergeant but also the corporal who was trying to insist that he was going to get the twin room rather than having to kip in the four berth bunk rooms. The room pitched and the bed swam beneath me as I lay down but I soon passed out, waking only a couple of times in the night when drunk stumbling men mistook my room for theirs on the way back from the bogs. I woke at 0700 to find Monk crashed out in the other bed, fully dressed and mumbling incoherently into a drool soaked pillow._

 _I was parched, and wrapping a hoodie around me I made my way to the kitchen and the kettle. I sank a pint of water as I waited for the kettle to boil, and started shoving pizza boxes and beer cans into rubbish sacks to clear some space on the table. The smell that wafted up caught in the back of my throat and I gagged a couple of times, but managed to keep control. I found a massive aluminium teapot at the back of the cupboard and chucked a handful of teabags in figuring that I wouldn't be the only one gasping for a brew._

" _Feeling human yet Lane?" Harte was stood in the doorway, a faded worn T shirt clung tightly to his shoulders skimming his slim waist, tight short briefs the only thing covering his bottom half._

" _Any minute now" I poured my tea and sat at the table, pulling my hoodie closer around me, suddenly feeling very self conscious that I wasn't wearing a bra. "There's plenty there, help yourself"_

 _He filled a mug and leant against the counter across from me._

" _You never fail to surprise me Lane" he blew on his tea, cooling it down before taking a sip "I haven't heard such a filthy things coming from anyone's mouth as I heard last night"_

" _One of the many useful things I learned on basic. Well a damn sight more useful than other stuff. Our Sarge was a mucky bugger, used to throw that sort of thing in to keep us on our toes or distract us from the pain of relentless exercises. He reckoned the females needed a bit more ammo under their belts."_

" _Well, he served you well." He took another sip "though you may have corrupted Monk"_

" _I doubt he minds, that is if he remembers any of it, you guys were pretty wasted by the time I got here."_

" _Hmm. Something tells me the fresh air and exercise portion of the weekend may not be as prominent as we thought"_

 _I finished my tea before crossing the kitchen for a refill "A shower and a fry up and they'll be as right as rain"_

" _Excellent, are you cooking?" He waved his mug at me asking for a top up._

" _What you think because I have breasts I'm going to cook for you lot this weekend?"_

 _Harte lowered his voice and bent his head towards me "Lovely as I may think your breasts are Lane, I don't think they can hold a spatula" he looked at my chest, tilting his head to one side "though maybe if you pushed them together they might manage…." He held his hands up, mimicking a pushing action._

" _Piss off" I smacked his hands away playfully "they can go to the greasy spoon in town. You're buying." I took a step closer, dropping my voice low "And you really shouldn't be thinking about my tits"_

" _It's not constantly" his eyes caught mine. They creased at the corners as he smiled "just now and again. Don't tell me you never think about me?"_

 _My eyes inadvertently glanced down, quickly running over his bare thighs before meeting his "No sir," I lied "never"._

" _Harte" he reminded me, a smile flickering over his lips._

* * *

 _In the end we were both right. We lined our stomachs with greasy food at the cafe in town and then headed out for an easy walk that, surprise, surprise ended at the pub in the village. I think we were all secretly happy that the planned schedule of 20 mile hikes in the rain and scrabbling up rocky cliffs had been abandoned in favour of drinking and a hastily arranged pool competition between us and the locals. I paced myself a bit better than I had the night before and wasn't in danger of falling asleep on the bar before closing. I wished I could say the same for poor Monk, the kid was in no state to even walk the mile or so home and had to be propped up between 2 lads who dragged his drunk stumbling arse up the farm track to our bunk house._

 _It was a clear crisp night. The rain had cleared earlier that evening leaving the ground wet, and with the temperature plunging you could almost smell the ice forming. There was a bright full moon, and it made everything shimmer, casting deep shadows. The cold night air had woken me, and the walk was sobering me up. I hung back, no longer in a hurry to get back. The lane wasn't dark despite having left the meagre lighting of the village behind. The deepening frost sparkled on the stone walls, droplets of water freezing on the tough tussock grass. The air was clean and cold, shocking my sinuses as I took a deep breath in. I stood alone in the frosted lane, the air still and noiseless around me. Above a few stars glimmered through the bright night. I looked up, watching as my breath condensed into clouds around me, before dissipating into the night air._

" _Aren't you cold?" Harte's voice was low next to my ear making me jump. I had been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't heard him approach. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I realised how closely he stood next to me._

" _Isn't it beautiful? It's like standing on a moonbeam" my voice barely rose above a whisper, reluctant to break the spell._

" _How much have you had to drink?"_

" _Not that much" I glanced across at him, he was wrapped up warm against the cold, a scarf wound around his neck, beanie hat pulled low over his ears. He was staring at me."Look at that moon. Bomber's moon; that's what my Grandad called them, cause they're so bright they look like daylight"._

" _Not the best for night ops" Harte was looking up now "don't want anyone to see us coming do we?"_

" _Well, let's hope that everyone is tucked up safe in Bastion tonight then"_

" _Hmm" I could tell he was barely listening. He inhaled deeply before exhaling in a big sigh "How are you feeling about it all?"_

 _I thought for a few moments before answering him "Ready." I put my hands in my pockets and nodded to myself, realising that I was. "Ready for it"._

 _The world was devoid of colour in the cold brightness of the moonlight, all sharp shadows and a thousand shades of silver and grey. His skin was as pale as marble, his eyelashes a dark sweep over his cheekbones as he looked down to the ground._

 _We stood in silence for a moment. "I'm heading in. Lock up behind you?" I nodded, watching him walk to the bunkhouse, a shaft of golden light spilled on the ground as he opened the door, and then was snuffed out as it closed behind him._

* * *

 _I was ready. More than ready, but we weren't to be deployed for another five weeks. We had been given a few extra days leave in lieu of Christmas on account of the imminent deployment; Chrissie needed help moving out of mum's house so I headed up to help her with that._

 _I'd lost count of the times we had moved out of or back in with mum, we were like a well oiled machine now. Of course this time was going to be the last time, just like every other last time had been. Mum had met someone, and this one was special. Special enough to chuck in the towel on life in the UK and move over to America. He wasn't the first 'special' someone she had left us for, and neither Chrissie or I thought he would be the last, but we were adults this time, we couldn't begrudge her a chance at happiness. Chrissie was going to be moving with some of her university friends, the place was scruffy around the edges and not in the best part of town, but she seemed happy enough. What couldn't be fit into her small room was going into storage with my stuff._

" _God, this is depressing" Chrissie took a break from rearranging boxes. "Look how little we have to show for life" the boxes were stacked neatly in the small storage unit._

" _Don't think of it like that. Think how unburdened you are. You can go anywhere and do anything you want"_

" _Ugh, stick the boot in why don't you?"_

 _I stopped stacking for a moment and turned to her. "What's the matter hun?" I pulled her in for a big hug. She shuddered slightly in my arms._

" _If I can go off and do anything why am I still here? My life's going nowhere but backwards" her voice was muffled as she buried her head in my shoulder._

 _I cradled her against me "You're going to do amazing things. You're so talented. It's not even one more year and then you'll be able to work anywhere in the world. London. LA. I'll be stuck in boring old Britain syringing ears and treating athlete's foot and you'll be dressing celebrities for the red carpet." I gave her a big squeeze. "Don't forget to send me your cast offs when you're done. I'm going to need them after a life in scrubs and MTP"_

 _She pulled away, nodding away the tears that threatened to fall. "I wish you were staying here and treating athlete's foot…"_

" _Hereford. Bastion. No difference really." I shrugged, trying to dismiss her fears. "I'll be back before you've had a chance to miss me"_

 _She gave me a wan smile. I wasn't convincing her, I knew that. "I'm sorry. I'm just really feeling it right now. It's the first Christmas without Gran, mum's going, you're going...I'm left behind."_

" _It's only a few months, and besides you aren't alone. Izzy's here, and she said you can go to hers this Christmas."_

" _It's a pity invite" Chrissie was dismissive_

" _No it's not. She wants you there. She needs moral support with all of Mark's family coming. You remember what his mother was like at the wedding?" I grimaced remembering her one woman monologue through a mist of Elnet and polyester suiting from the top table, the constant commentary on everything from the flowers to the guest list._

 _Chrissie put on her best Cheshire housewife accent "I'm not stupid Trevor, I have Sky news" she laughed._

" _See, you can't pass up Christmas with that" I squeezed her close again "You have to be there to tell me all about it."_

 _She laid her head on my shoulder just like she used to do when we were little, sharing the pages of a story book "You will be careful, won't you Daudie?" A lump formed in my throat as she used her pet name for me "I need you to come back in one piece"_

" _Course I will. Don't worry" the words spilled out automatically. I had every intention of keeping my promise._

* * *

Hannah hadn't needed my help with evening surgery. She coped well with the few piss takers who had tried it on, and Tony stationed himself out front on 'bullshit triage'. Anything genuine was pretty minor, the usual bedding in issues of dehydration and sun exposure. No matter how much acclimatising is done someone always forgets to take on water and sunscreen. Mansfield was at the front of the queue, although overnight someone had persuaded him that his sunscreen was safe to use and he proudly told us he was well stocked for factor 50. We topped him up with painkillers and aftersun and decided to recommend he stayed in camp for the next few days so he could stay in the shade until his skin looked slightly less angry.

After surgery we briefed Tony on the set up, the supplies room and equipment. He seemed competent enough and early signs were that we would work well together. In turn he gave us a low down on who and what made the new platoon tick. It seemed they were a mixed bag; Captain James had done four tours of Afghan, although given my conversation with him out by the perimeter fence I knew he must have been out there at least once.

Some of the guys including Mansfield and Brains had been out there as well, under his command. They seemed to be the old guard of the platoon, and although they may not all have the rank, their experience and loyalty to Captain James was obvious. Then there were those who were newer to the platoon and Captain James, Tony included himself in this group. According to him James had been injured on his last tour and for a while it looked like he wouldn't be fit for service again. It had taken some time for him to get back to fitness and back to the unit, during that time Tony and others had joined. Some had only been part of the platoon a number of months, and Captain James hadn't been back with them much longer than that.

Hannah had got a closer look at Captain James before her patrol that morning during his briefing. I think her exact words on getting back to our quarters had been "OMG the front does match the back and no wedding ring." I had to break the news of the photos on his desk of not only a wife, but also a son as well. I couldn't say Captain James ticked my box, but I could see that it wasn't going to be a hardship being around him for the next few weeks.

Tony also told us a little about the 'journalists' that were bedded in with his unit. Hannah's lack of interest in what was to all intents three unattached men did spark some suspicion with me. In the few months I had known her I had barely seen a man under the age of 30 that she didn't see fit to comment on in some form, so three of them under her noses that she wasn't talking about set alarm bells ringing.

I had wondered how best to handle the first aid training request, in the end I delegated it to Tony and he and Hannah agreed to set it up over the next day or so. Tony suggested opening it up to the rest of the unit and I saw no harm in that; a spot of refresher training and a chance to inspect personal first aid kits is never wasted. Locking up the medical room and heading towards the mess tent I spotted Captain James back out by the perimeter fence, pacing up and down with the sat phone against his ear. His tall frame was silhouetted against the dusk, he walked a short way, then turned, a small cloud of dust kicked up by his feet. He stood still for a moment, running his left hand through his hair before throwing back his head; the sound of a sharp barking laugh drifted towards me on the slight evening breeze. He made a quarter turn and stopped, obviously catching sight of me as I stood on the verandah of the medical centre. I quickly dropped my head and stepped down, catching him in an unguarded moment felt like I was intruding. As I turned towards the light of the mess tent a movement in the gathering gloom to my left caught my eye. Harte stood, leaning against the wheel arch of a truck, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his shorts. Neither of us moved, we stood, eyes locked across the compound. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the dusty air, tinged with the smell of diesel and the scent of people and livestock just beyond the gate. As I exhaled Harte pushed himself onto his feet, taking his hands from his pockets he turned and made his way back towards the dormitory tents.


	5. Chapter 5

_Georgie_

We're all getting used to life under Captain James. Whatever his brief is it's a step change from when we arrived a few months ago. Things were a bit more laid back under Harrison, he was the sort to focus on the end product rather than the journey, Captain James is one of those awkward sods who insist on everything being done his way and no exceptions. Security has tightened, which has made working with the mission clinic a little harder, their staff are only allowed here if they are escorted, and even that is discouraged. If we need to go down to their clinic we have to take a couple of the lads with us. I find I'm missing the quiet friendship that I had developed with Grace. She was sweet with a silly sense of humour, and it's refreshing to be around people who aren't army. Sometimes the army can seem like a very small pool, there's always conversations about who knows who and who's served where, it can be claustrophobic. Despite our very different backgrounds Grace and I got on well, we both enjoy the challenge of working out here, knowing that we are making a difference to people's lives. But she's shy around the lads, for someone who has seen what she must have seen she doesn't have that ability to ignore their presence and banter. While she's chatty with me and Hannah she's as quiet as a church mouse when we have an escort with us, and despite my invitations she doesn't come up here any longer.

We are still patrolling three times a day, it's been punishing in this heat. The rains have started which is some respite, but the humidity has kicked up a gear and it's like working in a sauna most days. The rains have also meant a lull in the fighting over the border which means more people have used the opportunity to get away from their villages. They want to get to Dadaab, an opportunity to claim asylum and ultimately get Kenyan citizenship although from what I've heard it's a bit of a long shot. The Kenyan authorities make no secret of the fact that they don't want them here, they're trying to clear Dadaab and send the Somalis back so our little camp is swelling beyond its capacity with people from all sides. They arrive with almost nothing, just what they can carry. Lucky ones have donkeys, or camels, Grace says most likely bought at an extortionate price as the droughts have meant keeping livestock alive and out of the hands of the rebels through the fighting has been hard. We watch them arrive every day, a slow trudge of people, spreading out across the land in a sparse line, the women laden down with belongings, usually with a child tied to their back, trailing more ragged and tired children behind them. It sounds harsh but I try to ignore it; if you don't protect yourself your heart would break twenty times a day. Skinny children, their eyes like saucers trudging silently behind their mothers, aunts, grandmothers. The kids rarely cry, as if they know complaining is futile. I think of the kids back home; of Aaron safe and warm, secure and happy with so much love around him, his chubby little face, his tiny hands, fat and pudgy, his giggle, the way he snuggles his dark head into your shoulder, poking his fingers in your face. Kids arrive here silent and hollow eyed, they start and jump at the sight of you, some shy away scared at the sight of our uniforms and our guns.

Grace deals with them with brisk efficiency, she directs them around the camp, assessing the medical cases, telling them where they need to go to register, to collect rations and where they will be living for the foreseeable future. We got a supply of tents a week or so back, the KDF and our lads have been out setting them up, digging ditches, laying piping for our meagre water supply, hooking up the new tanks to collect every drop we can. The new tents are bright white, not yet battered and turned the colour of the earth around us, they seem to almost glow, a signal that these people are not going to go any further than here.

You can see the pressure on Captain James; or at least it seems obvious to me. He doesn't seem to sleep much; there's usually a light on in his quarters until late and he's always the first up. It takes one to know one, as the saying goes. I haven't been sleeping so well myself. The sudden increase in people means more work for everyone, more patrols, more injuries for us to deal with as people sprain ankles, get blisters from all the digging, sun burn. You would expect that the extra work would make you more tired with, but it's always been the opposite for me; being this busy makes me wired, I get antsy and can't switch off. I need to find a way to cope with it, I know I'm heading for a burn out if I'm not careful. We're due out of here in a little over a month, I should be able to keep it together until then. The only time it's been worse than this was in Afghan, and I'm not going to make that mistake again. The surgery is clean and organised, the supplies rotated and checked to within an inch of their lives. Our quarters gleam as much as chipped lino and concrete walls can.

After that first evening Harte has kept himself to himself, you'd barely know the guys were here except for the gossip I get from Mansfield. The guy is convinced he's a reality star in the making, one of the 'crew' told him he was a natural and he swallowed it hook line and sinker, he's been talking about getting himself an agent. His section seem immune to his monologues now, but he keeps on with them, and gets the occasional remark thrown in for a cheap laugh here and there but mostly they just seem to let it wash over them.

We were sat in the Mess tent the other day, it was a particularly unappetising breakfast of reconstituted egg and baked beans, not really what you want feel like when you've spent the morning sweeping the floors clear of the bodies of flying ants that came out the night before and then trudged across a muddy camp. I was sat by myself, dreaming of an ice cold smoothie, full of fresh fruit, you could almost hear every cell in my body crying at the thought of vitamins. Before I knew it my day dream was broken as Mansfield who plonked himself down beside me, the flimsy bench wobbling as he leant heavily against the table top.

"Ain't you hungry?" he gestured at my untouched plate. The eggs were so solid they didn't even wobble, the beans covered with a skin of cooling bean juice. I shook my head, it hadn't been appetising when they served it up, but it was even less appealing now it was cold.

"Can I have it?" I thought he was taking the piss for a moment but he was absolutely serious. I pushed the plate towards him "Help yourself"

"Excellent" he started to scrape the food from my plate to his as he was joined by his section mates. Two section they call themselves, although that's not what they are here. It's a hangover to their first posting apparently. He glances up at them "Don't think you're having any of this" he warns them "Corp said I could have hers, didn't you?"

I nod, trying not to breathe through my nose as the smell of the beans wafts towards me. I pick up my toast, it's cold and feels sort of rubbery as I bite into it "Knock yourself out"

"Ah shit" Fingers pipes up "double beans? Why did I get the bunk next to you?" he looks around at the rest of the table "Can we make him sleep outside tonight?"

"I second that" Brains joins in "I'm on the other side of him" he adds for my benefit.

"Is there anything you can give him Corp? You know to bung him up like?" Dangles gives me his best attempt at doe eyes. "You know slip him an immodium or something?"

"Never again" Mansfield doesn't stop shovelling food in his gob as he speaks "I'm never taking that stuff again. I didn't shit for a week"

I put down my toast, as the last of my appetite suddenly disappears.

"You ain't supposed to take the whole packet, twat features" Brains leans over and clips him around the back of the head. "I still don't know why you thought that was going to work"

"Oh she was gorgeous. Almost worth it" he stops shovelling beans into his mouth for a moment, whoever 'she' is, she must be pretty impressive if he's going to stop eating for a moment. "Beautiful, blonde hair...tits…" he gestures against his chest. 'She' was apparently built like a zepplin. "I wasn't going to jeopardise what we had by taking a dump in the hotel"

It's like I can't look away, I just know from the grin on Fingers' face that this story isn't going to end well.

"You didn't have anything after you spent the whole holiday trying to squeeze one out in the toilet of every bar you went to. You spent so long in the men's bogs she thought you were batting for the other side"

"Yeah, and when you did finally shift it you blocked the hotel shitter and all"

At this point the whole table is helpless with laughter, Mansfield bless him is enjoying the attention, grinning along as he starts to eat once again. "Still, she had fantastic tits" he mumbles between mouthfuls. "Almost as good as your sister's Fingers" There's a scuffle as Fingers reaches across the table, grabbing at Mansfield, who in anticipation has leant back out of reach.

Someone clears their throat to the side of the table, and everyone looks up, snapping to attention as they realise it's Captain James. "Morning" he surveys us all coolly, but you can see the slightest twinkle in his eye, and the edges of his mouth are starting to turn upwards. Even smiling just the tiniest amount lifts his face, the lines around his eyes crinkle and it looks like outside of this world he laughs a lot. "Double beans Mansfield?" he raises and eyebrow "are you sure that's wise?"

"Can't let it go to waste Sir"

Captain James pauses for a moment before raising one eyebrow "Just as long as we don't have a repeat of the Salisbury Plain incident". The sniggers around the table are clearly audible.

"Ten minutes" Captain James taps his fingers on the tabletop, "outside the ops room. Mail"

* * *

According to Brains, Captain James likes to make a bit of an event out of the mail. He doles out each letter and package with a comment or look. Brains reckons it's all in good fun, and everyone has gathered in anticipation of a bit of entertainment as well as hopefully some news from home. We weren't expecting a supply run this week, so anything from home would be a bonus as far as I'm concerned, not that I'm expecting much. Mum isn't really one for writing, and Chrissie seems to still be giving me the cold shoulder.

You can tell James is enjoying himself, the platoon hanging on his every word as he rifles through the mail sack, pulling out items with a flourish and finding something to say to everyone about each item. As predicted there's nothing for me; it's hard knowing that another week has passed and I haven't made it to the top of someone's to do list. I had hoped to hear from Izzy, but I know the kids keep her busy these days.

Just as James is nearing the end of the mail he pauses, lingering over the parcel in his hand. He glances down at the address, and then up at 2 section, all except Brains have at least one parcel tucked under their arms in addition to the blue flimsies they've received. "Brains…" he rolls the name over his tongue, savouring every vowel and consonant.

"Sir?"

"Perhaps you would like to explain something to me"

"Do my best sir" he gets more scouse the cheekier he becomes

"Would you like to explain why you, Dangles, Fingers and Mansfield all seem to have parcels from Molly?" He raises an eyebrow at them.

"Did she miss you out Sir?" Mansfield pipes up. Fingers punches him in the arm to shut him up, but it's too little too late. "Cause you can have me Haribo. I'm keeping the porno though" Dangles clips him round the back of the head.

"She said she'd send a few things out like, sir" Brains is trying to smooth things over, his eyes trained on the parcel in James' hand "Just to keep us going and that"

James points at each of them in turn as he makes his next point. "You will pay her back. Every penny, you hear?" They nod in unison at his instructions

"Afraid she's spending your money on us, sir?" either Mansfield has no clue when to shut up or he's got the biggest brassneck in history. I cringe, waiting for James to put him in his place. "Not bloody likely, there's fuck all left after my ex wife has cleared me out every month" he chimes back and I breathe out, the tension disappearing as I hear his tone of voice, good natured and joining in with the banter. He passes Brains his parcel before turning the sack upside down and shaking it out on the ground, signalling that mail run has finished. The guys turn to leave, but not until James fires his final shot "Oh and Mansfield, you might want to check what's in that magazine before you make yourself too comfortable". He folds the empty sack up and tucks it under his arm, whistling as he strides back into the ops room.

* * *

I'm at my desk when I get the message from the gate. A minute later and outside James' door, smoothing the creases from my trousers, running my hands over my hair, tucking any stray wisps back into my plait, trying my best to look presentable and professional; I need a favour and I don't know how amenable he can be yet. I can hear voices behind the door, I pause, knock, and step back waiting to be summoned.

The voices drop to a murmur, and then silence. I hear a chair scrape across the concrete floor, followed by a deep barking "come". I take a deep breath and enter. Captain James' office is tidy, impeccably ordered, laptop, radio, pad and pen on the desk. The pictures I had noticed first time are tucked away I can just see them peeping out from behind a filing tray. James is behind the desk ,almost lounging back, his long legs stretched out. He holds a pen between his fingers, twisting the barrel, the quiet click of it against his nails fills the still air. As I close the door behind me I realise he's not alone.

Harte is standing at the back of the room, almost hidden in the gloom. He gives me the slightest of nods before I turn my attention back to James. Standing briefly to attention he nods his head and gives a slow blink, signalling for me to stand at ease. "Yes, Lane"

"I've had a request from the mission clinic, sir. They've requested medical assistance."

"Supplies? Surely Major Croft could authorise that?"

I shake my head, "no sir. Personnel"

He sits up, glancing ever so briefly behind my left shoulder where Harte stands "Who?"

"I was going to suggest myself sir"

"I'd rather send Andrews" he opens negotiations with his own company medic. I thought he would do this.

"It's to assist at a birth sir. Andrews wouldn't be suitable. Leeston is on patrol this morning" it's a bit cheeky to pre-empt him but I'm in no mood for a protracted discussion.

I can make out a movement from Harte in my peripheral vision; I try to block out that he's even in the room. I'm not going to let his presence here get in the way of anything.

James sighs, dropping the pen on the desk. He mutters something under his breath, I think I hear "bloody medics" and "donkey sanctuary". He looks up "This is not what we're here for Lane."

"No sir"

"Support and assist KDF"

"Sir" my heart sinks a little; he's turning out to be a stickler. So much of what we do out here relies on mutual support and the goodwill it fosters.

I see him glance at Harte again; their silent communication is starting to rankle me but I hope I've been in this game long enough not to let it show.

He takes a breath holding it for a few seconds before letting it out in a resigned sigh "You will take Mansfield and Brains" the relief I feel is palpable. "You don't so much as fart without them, do you understand?"

I nod "sir"

He's getting into his stride, he stands, leaning over the desk, resting his weight on his knuckles and looking me in the eye. "You are there to help with this one task. No going off running clinics or collecting waifs and strays. The minute you are done you will be escorted back, understand?"

I nod again noticing how deep a brown his eyes are, almost black in the gloom of the office with its small windows. "Of course"

"We cannot let the mission become reliant on us" he's pushing his point home and now the permission has been granted I just want to make a move. "The KDF won't thank us for placing obligations on them they cannot sustain. The mission clinic must be self supporting, if it can't then it places all the inhabitants of the camp at a disadvantage. They have to stand on their own two feet. Prepare what you need and meet at the ops room in 15." With that he nods curtly, dismissing me.

* * *

Mansfield and Brains are waiting for me as I arrive, fully kitted up and ready to roll. Captain James is standing off to the side and he turns and walks into the ops room as I approach. I'm glad to be spared the second lecture, especially in front of junior ranks. My bergen weighs a little heavier than usual; in addition to my normal supplies I've got a couple of bags of saline as well as the supplies and personal items I need to pay Grace back. We walk to the compound gate to check our ammunition.

"Wait up!" A voice behind us calls out just as are about to leave. Turning I see it's one of Harte's men. He makes a show of panting to a stop next to us as if he isn't fit enough to cope with the slow jog across.

"Dave" Mansfield high fives him, obviously on familiar terms " you coming along?"

"Yeah, the boss thought it would be a good chance to get some shots, maybe see if there's any interviews we can do." He pauses before glancing at me "if that's ok with you?"

I try not to give him an obvious eye roll; as if I had any say in the matter. Now I understand why Harte and James had been looking at one another in the office. He sticks his hand out, "I'm David. Assistant producer"

I take his hand, I know I have to play along. As I shake his hand I wonder if Dave is his real name, and what rank he is. Typical army thinking; slotting people into their ranks, working out where I would fit into the scheme of things. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what they were doing here. "Corporal Lane," I say, shaking his hand "Georgie"

We pause, waiting for someone to move. "Shall we go then?" I raise an eyebrow at Dave "it is urgent"

"Sorry, two minutes; just waiting for the guys to get their stuff" I sigh. I really could do without company right now, it's nearly an hour since Grace's message got to me. We wait, the minutes ticking past until eventually Harte outs in an appearance along with a tall fair-headed guy with a camera.

"Corporal Lane" Harte gives me a curt nod which I return before turning on my heel and leading out.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Mansfield pipes up as I lead at a quick pace. Spinning around I'm met with five pairs of eyes the ghost of a smirk lingering on all of them.

"We have been called to assist in a medical emergency Private. We were called an hour ago. Someone needs our assistance and I am obliged to take you all along for the ride. Let's not forget why we are here." My fuse has been smouldering for a while now and it's getting increasingly short. I can feel Harte's gaze on me, I'm in no mood to deal with this shit. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and I have to grit my teeth not let fly with all the names I want to call him "Sorry, I take full responsibility for the delay. I apologise." Spoken like a bloody officer, but I don't suppose you hear them say sorry that often. I don't respond, and we carry on.

* * *

I find Grace in the main treatment room. It's dark and hot, smelling strongly of the iron tang of blood mixed with sweat, shit and urine. She looks exhausted, dripping with the efforts of the last few hours. On the bed lies a woman, barely covered by a cloth. She is almost entirely silent save a few whimpers. Every few minutes her body becomes rigid with a contraction and the whimpers rise and then she slackens, falling silent once more.

There's not much call for midwifery in the life of a CMT so I'm not operating in my comfort zone here, but Grace knows what she is doing. We hook up a line and try to get the woman to her knees, encouraging her to move and speed things along. She's weak and not just from today, she looks gaunt, the walk here has taken everything that the baby hasn't.

I follow Grace's lead, moving when she asks, holding, lifting, emptying buckets, mopping sweating brows. The work is exhausting, the heat inside the room saps your energy and I'm desperate to open a window. I step out of the room for a moment to rest, even the heat is refreshing. Mansfield and Brains are hanging about on the shallow verandah the usual gaggle of kids that follow us everywhere surround them, Mansfield is leaning over and letting the braver kids touch his hair. They sidle up to him hands outstretched and pat his head quickly, their arms withdrawing in a flash as they giggle and jabber excitedly to each other.

Brains approaches me, "how much longer do you think ma'am?" He asks.

"How long is a piece of string?" I lift my arms catching a cooling breeze and feeling the sweat that's dripping down my back evaporate. "Are you needed back at camp?"

"No Ma'am, it's just we're getting a bit hungry like. Could do with some scoff, you know?"

I do know, my stomach growls at the thought of food and I'm caught between my desire for a break with fresh air and my rations in my bergen back inside. "You have your rations?"

"Yes" he grimaces "just waiting until I need it"

I glance back at the clinic room, I need to get back in. "Look, you keep in contact with base. If you're needed back then clear it with them. I'm not going anywhere. Just make sure to keep Captain James sweet. I have to go back in and I this will take as long as it takes"

Back in the stuffy room things are moving quicker. The mother is still almost silent, her skinny body swaying with each contraction. The minutes slip past and there's little to signify the passing time, just breathing, swaying and the small moans she makes. Grace is dealing with everything below the waist, I keep up the head end, moving in a sinuous dance with our patient. She leans her weight on me, our sweat mingles, breathing as one. Eventually her breaths come more erratic and her sounds change, grunting with the effort of pushing. Grace tells her when to push and when to stop. I drop my head and look her in the eye, holding her gaze. I smile and nod, encouraging as best I can. She's tired, but I keep eye contact as the pushing continues, my arms ache, her nails digging into my skin. Eventually she gives a long guttural cry and pushes and I know that she's managed it. There comes a pause, the long pause waiting for a new breath to be drawn, and just when you think it can't happen there's a cry of new life. Despite my exhaustion I smile, and almost as if I'm looking in a mirror the woman smiles back embracing me. She reaches up and wipes a tear from my face; I hadn't even realised I had been crying. I help her to turn, sitting her on the bed, as Grace passes the small bundle to her, the tiny beautiful squashed and wrinkled face searches for his mother's eyes and I move away, giving them peace and space.

"Boy." Grace says. "Healthy boy"

"And the mother?"

"We will do what we can. It was hard, and she had been cut. We will mend her for now but she needs to go to Dadaab, there's better facilities there"

We work together and we do the best we can with what is at hand. I'm glad I bought what sterile items I could. When we are done we withdraw, stepping out onto the cool of the verandah to the gathering dusk. I had no idea we had taken so long, as we both stretch our aching shoulders I look for Brains and Mansfield, but instead find an ashen faced Dangles sitting on the cracked plastic seat.

"Give me 10 minutes Private and then we'll head back" he nods though he looks distracted. Grace noticing him pats my shoulder and slips away.

"Everything ok?" I take a seat next to him, my body language echoes his, leaning over, elbows on knees. I can tell from my tired muscles that I will ache all over tomorrow.

"Is she ok?" He glances towards the door.

"Fine. Beautiful boy. Just a lot of work" I remember now what Captain James said about Dangles' wife being due soon.

"When's yours due?"

"Three weeks"

"It won't be like that. Your wife will be in a proper hospital and have access to much better staff than me and Grace. And painkillers. She'll be fine" I place my hand on his arm.

"She's going to be on her own though. I'll be here and I can't be there for her"

"Who will be with her?"

"She says she's going to have either her mum or sister; whichever doesn't get on her wick too much" there's a glimmer of a smile.

"Knows her own mind does she?"

"Yeah. Pity the poor midwife that gets Jackie." He smiles again "she's a nurse in RAMC" he offers by way of explanation.

"Oh well, then she'll be fine. Us medics are tough as old boots. We have to be to put up with you bunch of chancers." I nudge him with my leg. "Ten minutes, OK? Somewhere back on base there's a bucket of cold water with my name on it."

* * *

 _Elvis_

I watched her come in with the infantry escort. Her shoulders slumped a little under the weight of the bergen, her steps a little slower than when we set out. She didn't look as tired as I knew she must be, it had been hours and from what I could gather from Brains and Mansfield she had been pretty knackered hours ago. She held herself upright, her eyes still sparkled as she spoke to the lads with her, slapping one on the shoulder as she dismissed them, turning into the medical block. She would be unpacking, checking and repacking her kit, the habits of a good soldier coming before she let herself relax.

I was relieved to see her come back in. What little we've learned since being on the ground has reinforced the picture painted by our intelligence, there's Al-Shabab activity in this area, and it's centred around this camp. The intel gets a bit patchy after that. There's a couple of avenues of investigation, most likely corruption in the KDF forces; when morale is low easy avenues can be found.

I knew she was here when they passed me the briefing papers. I remember flicking over the page to be confronted with her name, I was surprised at how raw my reaction had been; she had made it clear after Afghan that there was no we, not after everything that had happened. It had taken a few more months for me to actually believe her, those months aren't something I like to dwell on. Even now there are long stretches where my memory fails me over that time. Last I had heard she had gone back to nursing training, I couldn't see her sticking that out; it simply wasn't her style, every day indoors, the routine, the formality of it all. It would stifle everything I knew she had a passion for; adventure, challenge, excitement. The things I had loved her for. I poured over her record, it confirmed my instincts were right. She had stuck nursing for a year before transferring from the programme back to being a CMT. Her record was impressive; training, tours, assessments, all had good feedback and she had risen to Corporal within a few years. She had chosen humanitarian work where possible, not volunteering for combat based roles. After Afghan there had been some counselling but since then nothing, the damage done by that tour seemingly mended. I felt a mixture of pride and hurt over it; pride that she had overcome it, hurt that she had done it without me; but she knew then what had taken me all those lost months to realise, that I was too damaged to put her back together again, we had been like shrapnel floating on an ocean, not able to coalesce into a whole again whilst we clung to each other.

Her NOK was listed as her sister, just as it had been before. No other names, no other family or significant relationship, but still I wondered. Of course I did. The stark black and white world of bureaucracy wasn't going to give me any insight into anything casual. The idea of it hurt more than I thought. I had trained my mind from dwelling on her over the last few years, but since opening that file she had crept into my thoughts more and more. As the days to the posting approached even the bustle of briefings and preparations couldn't keep her from my mind. Stuck in Nairobi with a bunch of mouthy gobshites itching to get on the posting was hell. I knew I was hours away, that I'd see her again. I felt like an idiot schoolboy waiting for a glimpse of his mate's older sister.

When we arrived I hung back, watching from the truck as the guys unloaded. She emerged from the shadow of the medical quarters briefly, joking with another female medic. The sun hit her face, dancing on the chestnut brown of her hair, tanned, healthy, happy. She was grinning, laughing at her colleague, before turning back up the steps into the deep shade. She looked as she had done in those early days of Afghan. My stomach had lurched at the sight of her, I had been naive to think that working in proximity to her would be easy, but I would have to find a way.

Turns out that my way is to behave like an arrogant wanker. Instead of finding a way to approach her and build some much needed bridges I got caught on the back foot, lurking in the dark of her office, all my recon skills apparently rendered null by my clouded judgement and following my dick, which let's face it was probably going after the only good decision it's ever made. I had seen her go with James and thought the coast was clear, sneaking into the medical quarters. Standing in the small room I hadn't given much thought why I was there, just standing where she had stood, looking at everything she had touched. There was a letter on the desk, I stole a glance noting it was from her mother. A few magazines, a few toiletries. I don't know what I had expected, but there was a certain thrill to feel so close to her once again.

Of course she came back, caught me out skulking around and that cocky little shit second lieutenant I had been came back as if I hadn't spent the last half decade getting myself together and rebuilding my life. Every way I could think to tease and belittle her came out, bubbling out of me apparently in an unstoppable tide of wankery. And she stood and took it. She looked me in the eye and took it all, barely a flicker. That Georgie Lane wall was there, reinforced, stronger than ever. Professional. Untouchable. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, but every advance was met with her impassive facade. I wasn't making any impression except….except...there was a moment. As leant in, smelling the soft sweet scent of her, dust, sweat and beneath it all her, a heady mixture that had me spinning, aching for her once again something flickered, I saw it, sensed it in the way her breath hitched and the kick of her pulse. I held her gaze fleetingly a moment barely the blink of an eye before the shutters came down once again.

I've deliberately kept out of her way since, I watch her as I'm watching her now. I see her do everything just as she should; clinics, patrols, planning and working. She's every inch the consumate professional. Now as she heads to the medical quarters I know she will take 10 or so minutes to log all her supplies back in, adjusting the inventory, repacking her bergen. She will be out soon, locking up behind her. The camp is in darkness now, she will make her way to her quarters, the light will flicker on, a stark unforgiving LED bathing the room in bright light and deep angular shadows. She will wash, dress for the night. I wonder if she still wears scrubs to bed, shapeless and soft to the touch after years of laundering. I need to stop this. To stop torturing myself with the visions I have of her, fleeting glimpses in the mess, a shadow passing in front of a window whilst I skulk in the shadows.

I saw something of the Georgie of old today, single mindedness, bending her will upwards, providing the answers to James as she seemingly requested that he sent her to assist in the clinic. She wanted to go, she made the request and got what she wanted. She made her difference today, and I take my part in that outcome and I hold it close to me. James didn't want her to go; he's right to be concerned about security here. He sees the intel reports, before she came we had been discussing the rising threat levels and how much we thought we could set store by the information coming down to us. The reports are suggesting a double threat, from Somalia and also from insurgents coming up from the coast, disguising themselves amongst the latest influx of refugees. We need to press the importance of some vetting and intelligence gathering to the KDF, soldiers with plenty of AU observer missions under their belts but precious little else. Every day the camp is swelling, the trickle of people is growing and will soon be a tide. I fear we are at tipping point and once the camp becomes too big to control we are sitting ducks; a nice juicy target for Al Shabab, surrounded by their people and land, out on a limb just a handful of soldiers in the desert tasked with keeping the wolf from the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**1 week later**

"Latest Intel" Harte dropped a thin file on my desk, the papers underneath flutter and settle back down. I sigh, glancing over it, it's a little more detailed than the last one, some stronger hints that minor players in the region are moving into the area, but no corroborated reports, no positive IDs, no photos of targets. It's little better than speculation when you come down to it. I glance over my desk at him, he's standing with his arms clasped across his chest, tapping a foot impatiently as I read.

"Do we have anything more substantial than rumour?" I glance over at Osman my KDF counterpart "Anything coming down the line your end?"

He shakes his head "Kenyan sources will not risk identifying themselves unless there is an immediate threat. We have to work on the basis that no news is good news"

Harte lets out an exasperated sigh "and what's to say they haven't been caught? Or defected? Or are just playing one side off against another? Surely they should be giving us some indication of their whereabouts?" He's getting fidgety, animated by the stress.

"Last contact with Kenyan Special Forces had them headed towards Digira last week. They could have carried on North or crossed into Somalia" Osman has already said all this more times than I can count "Until we receive the latest pictures from American drones we cannot say which direction they took"

"And what about new arrivals?" Harte finally takes a seat, staring across at Osman "Are you picking up anything from them?"

Osman sighs. This is as close as I have seen him get to showing frustration, he's usually unnervingly calm "They still seem to be crossing west of Hosingow, that is still the main area. There is really nothing changed since the last time we briefed. My troops are processing what they can, but not all the refugees are documented." He meets Harte's gaze, unblinking.

Harte runs his hands through his hair, the frustration radiates off him. Part of me sympathises, the flow of intel is painfully slow and despite nearly being nearly halfway through our mission we don't seem to have made any progress on that front. I understand his frustration, I really do, but he's not going to get anywhere taking it out on Osman. He shakes his head "My team have two more days here, let's hope that there is some progress to report by the end of them" He stands, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer. His hands fiddle with the threads from his faying t shirt as he inhales and looked around the room. Then, nodding briskly at Osman and myself he leaves the room.

* * *

Charles drums his fingers against the chipped plywood table top, the unwieldy sat phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. A series of buzzes and clicks come from the earpiece followed by a long silence. He checks the display, the call is still active. Eventually there's another click and a distant ringing tone. His heart lifts a little, and a small smile starts to form on his lips. The phone rings and rings. Checking his watch, he calculates the time difference again. It should be mid morning back home. "Where is she?" he mutters. Hanging on, letting it ring and ring until he's sure it will cut out. Just as he's about to hang up the call connects,, a clatter and a muffled "shit" followed by the rustling of fabric against the mouthpiece.

"Hello?" he hears the echo of his own voice, small and metallic a few seconds after he speaks followed by a quiet digital hiss.

"Charles?" Molly's voice, slightly muffled and distant "Charles?"

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" as soon as the words are out of his mouth he knew he sounded more terse than he intended to. He rushed to correct himself "I thought I'd missed you"

"I was sleeping" her voice sounded croaky and tired "plus I had to make sure my other fella was out of the room first."

"How's that going?" Charles grinned

"He ain't bad. Pretty good between the sheets, but not a patch on your washing up skills"

"Glad to hear I've not been usurped in all departments"

"Nah. Reckon I'll be sick of him by the time you've finished out there."

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll get you some new Marigolds. Maybe even a fresh bottle of Fairy."

"Nothing but the best, eh?"

"Well you know what they say, you're worth it"

"Glad to hear I'm not being missed"

"Yeah. Who are you again?" Even with the crackle and echo on the line he could hear the teasing smile in her voice. He missed her most of all at moments like this, she was the antidote to the stress and exhaustion of the tour, light hearted and irreverent, never pandering to his darker moods.

"So…" he sat back in his chair and rested is foot over his knee "in bed are you? Anything you want to share about that?"

"Well, it ain't too comfy right now. Biscuit crumbs and that"

"Standards _are_ slipping"

"Well, when the cats away, the mice like to watch match of the day in bed and eat biscuits"

"And then lounge about until.." Charles checked his watch "what is it there 10:30?"

"Need my beauty sleep, don't I?"

"Need a bloody good workout after those biscuits"

"How's your blisters old man?"

"Ooh, changing the subject. Not subtle Dawsey"

"Come on. Tell me you're bothering Tony at least twice a week with your manky feet"

"You wouldn't have fallen in love with me if it wasn't for my manky feet."

"I don't know what you think, but it weren't your feet that got me"

"So you say"

"I'm serious Charles." the playful tone dropping from her voice. "You are looking after yourself ain't you? Keeping up with the physio and that?"

"I'm fine. Stop fussing. You're worse than mum. I can't believe that you're lying in bed on the other end of the line and you want to talk about my feet."

"I ain't talking dirty to you. Don't know who's listening. Months from now I don't want to be at some mess shindig with some bloke from logistics grinning at me over the table cos he's heard god knows what. I'd rather discuss your blisters, ta."

"At least tell me what you're wearing"

"That onesie Nan got me off the market"

Charles groaned "God you know what after 3 weeks with this lot that might actually do it for me"

"You dirty bugger"

"Well, I suppose I could see if Mansfield's finished with whatever magazines you sent him. He's had his nose stuck in it all week"

Down the line Molly started to laugh, trying desperately to talk whilst gasping for air and coughing. "Do you know what I sent him?"

"Well I think I can guess from the cover"

"Nah, I sent him a copy of Nan's People's Friend, just stuck a cover on from one of me brother's wank mags over it."

Charles laughed, shaking his head "Only you could get away with that Molly. Have you done the same for all of them?"

"You bet. Got Nursing Times out of the staff room, plus the guys in the mailroom have saved me a selection of quality titles they get told to send back. I sent off a new load yesterday. Concrete Cutter Monthly was my personal favourite."

Charles wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye "Oh Molly. I do love you"

Over the line he caught the slightest sound of a sniff "Me an all, numpty"

* * *

Elvis leant back on the chair, balancing it on two legs before he wobbled precariously and grabbed at the desk to stop falling over.

"Three seconds boss" Tony checked his watch "Useless"

He stood up, kicking the chair out behind him, the legs scraping against the battered concrete floor of their ops room. "God. When is someone going to get us some bloody intel" he growled in frustration "This whole mission is a complete waste of bloody time"

Tony tapped at his monitor "They're sending a drone up at 14:00"

"And what's that going to show us that we don't already know? Has there been any chatter from the safe houses in Dadaab?"

"Nothing exceptional" Tony answered "I still think we're missing something. All the intel from the coastal districts suggested a move inland. We need to find the route and scope out the known cells in those areas. I've requested drone feeds from inland of Lamu and along the border. Yanks are just waiting on clearance from London."

"Jesus. Why do we need clearance? More bloody waiting" Elvis pushed his hands through his hair before walking the two paces across the room to retrieve his chair. "Let me know if we don't get it in the next hour and I'll escalate it. Try and get it under someone's nose before London bugger off to lunch"

"Boss" Tony nodded, returning his attention to his screen. Elvis laced his fingers together and rested his hands behind his head, staring up at the rough joists and tin roof. As ever his thoughts wandered to Georgie. He hadn't seen her this morning but he knew from the rota that she was down to patrol and she would have headed out after breakfast. He had to get past this. Learn to work in proximity to her without her constantly invading his thoughts. It seemed everywhere he turned he caught a glimpse of her or heard her name mentioned by someone. She was haunting his dreams each night, every morning he woke to the memory of her eyes staring into his.

The door to the room opened "Boss" Dave rushed in, slamming the door shut behind him."We might have something"

"What?" he sat up giving Dave his full attention.

"You know Tony's been working on the idea of cells moving up from the coast, disguising themselves as refugees to get into the camp?"

Elvis nodded, Tony knew the situation well and his instincts were usually good.

"Well that medic, Lane. The one who was at the clinic all day last week. She's only come back off patrol with a bag of mangoes. A gift from the family of the woman she was treating she said."

"And?" Elvis furrowed his brow

"Well, do you see any mango trees out there?" Dave asked, waving his hand in the general direction of the door.

"I still don't follow" Elvis replied as Dave glanced over at Tony who had left his screen to join them

"Not here boss." Tony explained carefully "But there's plenty down at the coast. This could be the first evidence of our link"

"Lane?" Elvis shook his head "I know Lane. She's beyond reproach"

"Not her boss. The woman she was treating. Or her family. The people she was travelling with at the least. There's got to be some connection."

"What do we know about this woman?"

"Precious little. I tried talking to the nun or whatever she is that runs the clinic but she wouldn't tell me anything. Ran off like a frightened bunny as soon as she could"

"Well, you always were shit with women" piped up Tony

"We need to know who she is. When she arrived. Who with" Elvis stood "We could say we're doing a human interest piece, plight of mothers, yada yada…." he paced the small room.

"Exactly boss. But if we can't find anything out from the clinic?"

Elvis stopped in his tracks, looking up at his colleagues, their eyes lit up with excitement, a sniff of a new lead animating them.

"What about Lane?" Tony continued "Last time I went out I heard that they had given her a name." he walked back to his desk, collecting his notebook and flicking through the pages "Gargaaro. _The one who helps_. Sounds like they trust her. Could we get her in the clinic more?"

Elvis rubbed his hand across his chin, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath his shaking fingers. An image flashed in his mind; Georgie in the dim light of a small room, a shaft of light falling across her cheek her hands grasping at strong arm around her neck, the dull glint of metal pressing against her temple. Her brown eyes wide with fear and panic.

"We aren't using medics as bait" he snapped.

"Not bait boss." Tony glanced at Dave "But she's trusted. Plus she's tight with the clinic nurse."

Elvis sighed. He knew that she was their best bet. As Tony had said, Georgie was trusted and respected in the camp, not to mention the relationship with the clinic. Their time on this mission was running out and they needed to make progress.

"I'll have to clear it with Croft and Captain James" Tony and Dave whispered a 'yes' at his statement. "They've got final say, and we will be changing the focus of the mission to do this so don't hold your breath"

"And Lane? Do you think she'll go along with it?"

"I'll leave that to James. She's under his chain of command." _And she's not likely to take anything from me_ he thought to himself grimly.

* * *

"You better get a move on, or there'll be nothing left" Hannah's cheery tone snapped Georgie out of her train of thought. The Lance Corporal was leaning against the doorway to the office. Even in the dimness of the stuffy office Georgie could see Hannah was tired. They were nearing the end of their deployment and the physical and emotional strains were beginning to take their toll. Georgie was aware that Hannah had not been sleeping well lately, mainly because she was finding sleep hard to come by as well. Hannah kept her chipper tone throughout, wearing it like a suit of armour some days, and Georgie knew that feeling all too well.

"I'll have something from the ration pack later. I'm not in the mood to go to the mess tent" Georgie turned back to the desk, sweeping her eyes over the clean and tidy surface, everything neatly stacked, stored and filed. There was nothing else to be done; they had cleared up after clinic hours ago, the bergens had been packed and checked and stood waiting for the next patrol.

Hannah moved into the small office, perching herself on the empty desk and folding her arms. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter, I'm just not feeling that sociable today"

"And what's your excuse for the last month then? You've been skulking away in here for weeks. What is it? One of the new unit rubbed you up the wrong way?I tell you it's been too long here, I wouldn't mind someone rubbing me up any way. God, especially that Captain James. He could rub me any which way he liked."

"I'm here to work Hannah, not perv on bloody officers. In case you hadn't noticed there's a lot going on. Someone needs to keep on top of things here" Georgie knew she was being petulant but she didn't appreciate Hannah being so perceptive. She had been hiding away, mainly to avoid Elvis and had been using work as excuse to keep busy.

"Are you saying me and Tony ain't pulling our weight? Because my blisters and sunburn would call you a liar. You've spent so much time holed up in here you're in danger of developing rickets" Hannah spat back. "It's tough on all of us Georgie, you don't get to be a special case just because you feel like it" she turned to storm away but found her way blocked by Captain James, nearly walking into him in the gloom of the dark treatment room.

"Leeston. Lane." His tone was clipped, almost curt. Hannah stopped in her tracks, taking a half step back before standing to attention, Georgie was almost to her feet to catch Hannah as she heard rather than saw him. "My office. Now" he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. Hannah shot a quick 'oh fuck' look over her shoulder and followed with Georgie bringing up the rear.

"At ease" captain James wasn't even looking at them as they skidded to a halt in front of his desk snapping their shoulders back, hands clasped behind their backs. He sat heavily in his chair, leaning back and resting his left foot on his right knee. Momentarily he seemed to wince, sitting upright again, shuffling in the chair, eventually looking up at them. His eyes flickered between the women before dropping to his desk. He took a deep breath in as if to start talking then paused, his mouth mid way to forming a word then shutting again as if he was grasping to articulate his thoughts. Eventually he sighed, picking up a pen, spinning the barrel between his fingers and letting out a long breath.

"How long do you have left on this posting?"

Hannah looked across at Georgie deferring to her to respond

"Three, maybe four weeks? Sir."

He breathes in again, his nostrils flaring slightly with the inhalation and running his fingers through his hair. "There's been a change in our remit" his eyes drop to the desk again before glancing up at Leeston and holding her gaze. Once again he seems lost for words, his lips paused as he contemplates what to say next "The KDF are concerned with the upsurge in refugees coming over the border. They don't have enough resources in place so they want us to step up support to the clinic." He pauses, "we need to fill in; give the KDF time to muster enough resource to staff a clinic themselves. They will send infantry in the interim, and one other medic to cover patrols with Andrews. You will be seconded to the clinic for the duration. This will give the KDF enough time to gather the resource they need to take over at the end of your deployment. We may have to extend your placement by a few days to complete the handover, but no longer than a week." he leaves a long pause. "I know you're being asked to step up at the point of the tour when you are at the most knackered but I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you were capable. Unfortunately you will still be needed to cover surgeries here as well, but I'll see what we can do to share the load with Andrews."

The room is silent as we take in this change of plan. This is the man who was leaning over the same desk a week ago telling me that the clinic couldn't become reliant on us, that the Kenyans wouldn't take on the responsibility of the clinic. No wonder he can't look me in the eye. I glance over at Hannah, her face is impassive, her eyes focused somewhere behind Captain James' right shoulder. We don't get a say in this; it's all been decided. This is just a dressed up way of giving us our orders, the Captain's way of saving his arse in the face of contradictory orders. I'm so tired of swallowing someone else's orders that I can barely muster the energy to be irritated by the situation. I've been trying to support the clinic the whole time I've been here, I can see that it should be a key part of the operation, I have done since day one. But no, some bloody desk jockey officer has to spend nine weeks sitting on his arse reading intel reports to see what anyone on the ground would know within hours. At least Captain James has the decency to look embarrassed by the whole shit show.

He raises an eyebrow in our direction, looking for some sort of agreement; as if we have any choice in the matter. They say jump and expect us to reply 'how high?'. "Sir" I nod. "Who will lead on the clinic liaison?"

"Croft is there now discussing needs and making plans for the first days. I expect him to brief you further tonight or in the morning" his reply is curt; he doesn't care about the needs of the clinic, his mind is occupied with how thinly he can spread his troops. He's here with the bare minimum of men and somehow he has to make them enough to go around.

"Will we still have an escort?" Hannah asks, her eyes meeting mine briefly before darting across to Captain James.

"We will do all we can to ensure your safety Leeston" he nods at her but she has no further questions. His gaze sweeps over us and then flickers to the door behind us. We are dismissed with a nod as he sighs once again and tosses the pen he's been fiddling with onto the papers littering his desk.

* * *

Hannah and I have called a truce over what was said in the office. We've moved onto how the hell we are going to cope running surgeries here as well as working at the camp clinic. Croft isn't back yet so we can only suppose what plan he's going to return with, but we both know how stretched Grace is. Staff are hard to come by when you are this close to the border and the danger just on the other side. She's going to want both of us as much as possible but we still need to be present here for our guys, they still need to be our priority.

"We could do one day here, one day at the camp I suppose" Hannah seems almost dazed at the prospect of another month or so before we can hand over and what we need to fit in. "or split the day mornings and afternoons?"

We are sitting in the mess tent so we can spread out a little better than in our tiny office. Notepads open around us as we each try to work through this and present a unified and well thought out plan to Croft later. There's a stiff wind blowing and it whistles and moans through the gaps in the tent sides, ruffling the papers. Between us sits a plate of the mangoes I was given this morning, cut into strips and sitting in a pool of their own juices. Our faces and hands are sticky with the juice; they taste exquisite, like nectar compared to the tinned and processed food we have been living on for so long now. I put the plate on top of a pile of papers, the juice dripping over our notes and Hannah giggles. It's a much needed moment together to step back and reconnect after our exchange of words.

"I'm glad you could take it all in" she says licking her fingers and staring wistfully into the middle distance. "I don't think I could make head nor tail of anything he said for the first 5 minutes. I thought he was going to haul me over for what I said about him. You don't think he heard do you?"

"What about you wanting him to rub you" I can't help smirking as I watch the blush creep up her neck to her cheeks

"Oh god. I'll be mortified if he did"

"I suspect he's heard worse"

"Ahh, so you do have blood running through your veins, and not anti-freeze. You've noticed he's a cut above the average Rupert?" A pauses, looking wistfully into the middle distance, a slice of mango resting against her lips she exhales longingly "I can't decide whether I was shit scared of him tearing a strip off me or whether it couldn't have been any better. The man's exquisite, even more when he's being all moody and intense. I couldn't stop staring at his mouth. God, can you imagine what he could do with those lips?

"I'm not blind Hannah. Neither do I have antifreeze running through my veins. But I don't go for soldiers, no matter how attractive they are. Besides I'm pretty sure he's married with a kid"

"Ah, so you haven't heard the gossip?"

I roll my eyes, it looks like we aren't going to get much work done here until she's told me.

"Go on…"

"He's on wife number 2 now. First one is the one he had the kid with but divorced a couple of years ago…"

"Oh. Poor kid"

Hannah rolls her eyes at me, I've obviously interrupted her flow. "He met this wife on tour in Afghan. She was the medic attached to his section. Barely out of phase 2 from what the guys tell me."

"Yeah, well you know to treat anything they tell you with a pinch of salt for a start."

"No. Straight up. Brains told me. The others, yeah wouldn't trust them further than I could throw them, but he's down the line"

"Oh well, if _Brains_ said so…." I grin at her as I reach for more fruit.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying nothing" I hold my hands up in surrender, mango juice dribbling over my wrists "I might be insinuating something though"

"There's nothing going on with him"

"I'm not saying there is. Maybe it's just a coincidence that he's only on the treatment sheets when you're on duty. Or maybe not."

"It's just a few headache tablets and some blisters. Nothing serious"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Ow!" she kicks me under the table and then sticks her tongue out at me.

It feels good to be here like this, it feels normal. The banter, the teasing, working together like this. It feels like a weight has been lifted from us, a parting in the clouds to let some sunshine into our lives. It is hard being out here away from our friends and families, the work is tiring and all consuming and a big part of me will be happy when our deployment is over, but times like this are wonderful too. The bonds you make living and working in these pressure cooker environments are solid and it isn't all hard slog. There's moments of lightness and happiness. Simple things like spending time with people and laughing make such a difference. It's easy to lose sight of that and I know without a doubt that I've been guilty of that in the last few weeks. Hannah was right to call me out on it.

We laugh so much at each other my cheeks are aching and we're covered in mango juice, it's dripping down our arms onto the table. Of course we have nothing to wipe it up with and we laugh at each others attempts to lick it from our hands which just makes the stickiness and mess worse. "You can't lick your own elbows you daft tart" laughs Hannah before collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"Well no. That would be anatomically impossible" comes a voice behind me. Its Elvis. He's standing behind me, the corner of his mouth is turned up, smirking at us. I'm caught in a pose like a bad contortionist, my tongue stuck to my forearm. I look like an idiot. The spell is broken. His presence here is like someone pouring cold water over the situation, I immediately straighten up, turning my back on him.

Hannah smiles up at him, as if she doesn't feel the atmosphere change with his presence. "I think we might need some help here" her smile becoming more coquettish with each passing moment. She'll be batting her eyelids at him next. "Would you mind…." she trails off with a giggle, inclining her head to the kitchen where the sanitising wipes are kept.

Elvis of course obliges. I can't bear to look at him, but I know his sardonic grin, how he drops his head and looks through his eyelashes, how he can make those dark brown eyes look playful and hungry at the same time. He'll be sauntering over to the other side of the mess tent, giving Hannah every opportunity to enjoy the view. By the look on her face he has an appreciative audience.

He seems to take an age to return, dropping a handful of wet wipe packets on the table. He crosses his arms, his hand draped casually against his grinning mouth. He's trying to catch my eye and I refuse to look up at him.

"Thanks" Hannah gushes, her smile widening "we got into a bit of a mess here" she slowly wipes the juice from her forearms all the while holding his gaze. I think I'm going to vomit.

"Not going to clean yourself up, Corporal?" he asks me. His tone is sarcastic, pitched exactly at the right tone to try and provoke a reaction from me.

"No point in tidying up if I'm just going to make more mess is there?" I try to keep my voice neutral and look pointedly at the uneaten fruit in front of me.

"Fresh mango? Well that is a treat." Sarcastic bugger. "Mind if I have some?" He reaches over without waiting for my answer takes a slice, biting into it and winking at Hannah. "Don't tell me we've managed to get supplies of fresh fruit"

"Oh haven't you heard?" Hannah's voice is so breathy and gushing by now she's putting Marilyn Monroe to shame "Georgie was given them by the woman she helped last week. Her family wanted to show their gratitude" It's a good thing the army only issue round necked t-shirts, if she could she'd be flashing her cleavage at him.

"Well, isn't that nice" he winks at Hannah and my head is filled with a fantasy of wiping that patronising smirk off his face with a swift knee to the cobblers. "It must be very rewarding being a medic" he perches himself on the edge of the table, turning his back on me "perhaps you would like to do a short piece to camera about what drew you to the career. I'm sure it would be fascinating."

I roll my eyes, "You too Corporal Lane" he half turns and I'm sure he's seen me.

"Thanks but no thanks. I don't think what I do is anything out of the ordinary. I'm not one for the limelight" His eyebrows furrow and for a moment the insincerity drops from his eyes. He fixes the smile back on his face before turning to Hannah once again.

"Well, I'll leave you lovely ladies to get on with whatever it was you were doing" he stands, brushing a non-existent speck of dust from his cargo trousers. "Thank you for the fruit. It was truly delicious and I'm sure you earned every single morsel of it Corporal Lane" He flashes one last smile at Hannah and makes his way out of the mess tent. She turns watching him go, her mouth hanging open. I reach over the table and pressing my fingers under her chin I close it for her. "You're going to catch flies" I tell her.

* * *

 **I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story and Thames, I know I haven't touched them in months but they are never far from my mind. Truth is it's been a hard few months, work, family and other events have left me feeling flat and uninspired and rather taken the joy out of things. Even so I've really appreciated the reviews that have dropped in on my stories, seemingly out of the blue, and it's great to know that they are still being read despite me being terrible at updating. I'd like to say this is the start of something new, but I can't promise anything. I will finish Thames as soon as I can - I'm close but not quite there yet. I hope you enjoy my Elvis and Georgie; I know they haven't inspired people quite as much as Charles and Molly, but I have a fondness for my incarnations of them at least.**


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